I.
My words dress up for you
My heart wraps around yours
The rest, a mere quest through the trivial elements that make up our existence.
The off chance of finding your smile in the crowd.
Sharing laughs on your couch.
Holding hands in the summer heat.
Then refusing to let go.
And while it seems hard to hold on.
How could we let go?
II.
You joke.
I laugh.
And the laughs blend this day into the next.
Where I joke.
You laugh.
And we do not know for sure how many days have passed
But we have navigated through the stormy seas of all our lives.
Living on in your crooked bone.
In my patchwork scar.
And we have danced so hard,
That the nights are gone.
A second time around.
But you will joke.
And I will laugh.
Time is really nothing more.
III.
I wrote about your smile
You gave me plenty more
I wrote about our days
And they melted into memories,
They melted into pasts.
I lavished in our summer
Dreamt of fall in your arms
But I have in these pasts
Only your endless summer
Only our countless jokes.
This remains.
If at least for today.
IV.
I became a lit candle
Ignited by the passion in your flame
I studied the lines along your eyes
The nights behind them
The stories they hold
What stories will they tell of me?
Will they quiver when they hear my name?
Will they remember my name?
V.
There was a tiny stream behind the library you took me to.
This was the first memory in which I actively remember thinking of you
Your smile keeping my own on me
The excitement of knowing you were somewhere in this city
Thinking of me
Sitting in a tiny stream
With my tifanny blue fan
And a freshly read book in hand.
VI.
After thoughts do not often occur when you are sure
They appear as details you missed
As blurry elements that look yellow, not gold.
You were gone
Inevitably gone
I was alone in the backyard of a library
A beautiful library
In a beautiful neighborhood
But you were not there
And we never came back as I pictured we would
To poke our feet in that stream, together.
VII.
The first piece I wrote for you
Was the first time I wanted you to know I was thinking of you
That your inspiration was grand
That your voice was oh so strong
Touching me from afar
Touching me from wherever you go
While I sit and read about lovers who remind me of you
Without loosing sight of the lover in me.
VIII.
There may be elements I do not remember
Entire days that were erased
There are others, that extend themselves over decades of your lips on my lips.
Your thighs beneath my thighs
And my feet hanging helplessly while we become a single, endless kiss
IX.
The more I think of our time, the easier it is to become enchanted all over.
As I feel my head in your neck, my arms on your chest.
I grow old in your bed
I become a version of the poets I have read
Eagerly fighting to become more than a women with her head in your neck
To become a poem
To turn your arms into words stronger than stone
Softer than the embrace in which we slumber
I think of our time as a page to discover
In a book I have read over and over.
X.
When I think of a book I can smell it
I can fell its weight, acknowledge its age.
More than a story, I can place a bookmark in the time of my life when I touched its pages
When we became friends.
Looking back I know the moment in which you and I became friends.
When we became drunk on the stories we blurted back and forth
This was long after I cried in a BBQ joint
Long after I jumped on a flight back to you.
We became friends long after I blurted stupidly that I love you.
Then stupidly admited I loved the days with you
Not you.
I touched your pages and you touched mine.
A bookmark, the only bookmark worth the time.
