Tied to the mailbox,
no letters to come,
I wait for the
arrival of your
printed thumb.
Down by the creek,
near the old piano
shoppe I seem to think
of you and your words
as they roll off my tongue.
Russet brown hair,
and hazel grey eyes
I align your lips
with the stars in the sky.
Your meager frame,
and taciturn disposition
leaves me standing on the
edge of repetition:
"I love you,
I love you,
I love you," and I retract
"But I know I cannot have you,
take my love
to be like the moon
in the sky
above the stars
and you can sit on me
my boy
with the many spoons
and I'll love you forever
if only in this dream,
this abstract
non-existing
dream
where you and me
cease to be
but come together
to be one
my boy
with the many spoons
let me be your sacred moon."
I trace the ink on the edge
of this crisp & yellow envelope
and map out trace remnants of
your fingerprints
You are the sun
to me
and I reflect all your
beauty
back to you and the world
yet I only show this secret
to strangers
in the night
& to the stars
dancing their lonely
dance
waiting for a friend
alone
in this dark and empty
sky