How many lives am I capable to create?
Forgotten layer upon layer, like tiers of cake,
separated by creamy, custard friends
and Interstate midnight dead ends;
seen through the same two eyes,
unaware the sight, the shape, the size
of their carrying vessel breaking down—
the spinning cycle, the merry-go-round.

Kaleidoscope forces force faces away,
diminish the value of things I’d say.
Sentimentalist: my heart extends,
Realist: my heart pretends
there’s a way that I
could love the chase, the chance, the try
to fall asleep, despite the sounds
of uncertainty with what I’d found.

Until there was you, I never guessed fate
would grant me a second chance to take—
to realize the arc, the lazy bend
towards someone on whom I could depend.
From constant contentment, faith arises,
to fill the moments that Time supplies
with memories anchored to solid ground
and tied to days to which we’re bound—

these sun-stroked days I don’t want to forget—
and to those days we've not created yet.

04/24/2010