San Francisco beat lit blues,
got Raymond Carver in my bag
on the train, flipping
through my pages, thinking
of you, my dear.
Soft knuckles, big hands
clumsy enough to take
hold of a pen and write
something beautiful;
paint me a picture with
words when I'm old and grey
stuck in a nursing home
wishing we'd met.
Eating fruit in a distant park,
hardened heart due to constant
responsibility; foolish actions,
little girl in a ford hits
a truck and cries for him.
Man with the soft knuckles, big hands,
beautiful unforgettable ocean-coloured
eyes.
Come into me, I invite you:
Swim in between these open layers
of flesh and take flight
within me.
Dispersed genetics on a dreary hour,
I've got you in my mind
Mapping out the design of your face,
and loving every second of it.