Love, you don't know the first thing
about cardio-calculus.
[How much matter does it take to block an aorta?]
You've been trying to fit two into one
all year,
and that only works if you are
half a man.

You are not half the man I want
to believe you could be,
searching the clouds for a rainbow
you wouldn't have the Nerve to climb.
No golden roads before you.
No lions here - only sleeping kittens,
and you're allergic, anyway.
You are no tornado,
no hurricane or flood,
but nothing works so forcefully through me
as you do.

I'm not sure how to tell you
what these colors mean
when all you know are shades of New York grey
and that blue you doubt you'll see again.
We are frequencies of light,
refracted,
but you can't do the math,
and blue will never lead you home.

Love, you don't know how long
I waited,
or how much longer
I might.
But I won't stop
that hot air balloon this time:
I can't wait for you if you're still here.

You're not in Kansas, yet, boy,
but maybe you should stay there a while.

07/25/2007

Author's Note: This was suddenly inspired, hurriedly written, and intensely necessary. Thank you H.Farewell and C.Gleason.

Posted on 07/25/2007
Copyright © 2024 Meredith C Hartwell