Mood: Wishful
Drinking: Whatever
What shall I wear
when I meet you?
An open backed gown?
An upended frown?
Shall I leave my hair loose
or get it out of the way, and
what shall I say? What
shall I say through tears
or through teeth
or through bright anesthesia?
What should I say
when I first see your face?
I shall try to so hard to be
profound
to coo each word
in the most eloquent
sound, though
I already know
it’s ridiculous
to expect you
to remember.
I’ve imagined the moment
at least three thousand times
and today
in the shower,
I suddenly knew the precise
circumference of your fingers.
How can an idea
be so much stronger
than gravity?
than reality?
You’re nothing more than
a gleam in the eye
but I feel your pull
like the earth
to the sky
like the moon
to the tide like
an addict to the high.
You are only a dream.
Just a dream.
Such an ephemeral
disembodied thing, but
one tiny drumbeat is
all it will take.
I already feel the fault lines
along which my heart will surely break.
(Yes, dear…It is I.
I am finally awake.)
It is only a matter of time.
-Lo, who always thinks up brilliant things while pen-less in the shower.
LaDonnaWitmer 