In the car
you point out the red and golden parts
of my beard in the sun -
and I smile.

Born the same year,
I am still somehow
older than you.

Perhaps my eyes are weighted
with a childhood of much
cherished burden.

I'm sure it would be so convincing now
if I reached over the seat
and pulled you over to me.

I mean,
isn't that what we all want.

To feel wanted.

I suppose I could be that person,
I could be so many things,
if it meant that much to you.

We could press our lips together
and blow softly on this dream
till our sails are full
of my greatest intentions.

Our lives,
could go on
much like this.

But I'm not sure
it would be any different.

I know it's been some time
since the matchbook fever
of our youth.

Since then
we've returned the cognac
to it's ancient shelf
and left our pirouettes
in the yard of our parents
frozen leaves.

It's difficult to look back there
and not feel the heat we used
to bend a moment
into the shape of our bodies
that wasn't meant to be.

A visionary you've become; to imagine there is healing.

In the car
we look off at the city
shared once again.

I should ask you
to close your eyes now,
and let the chill reconnect us
for the last time.

As I unfold each crease
in the many shapes
I've taken on
to be the one;

all encompassing
for you.

The truth is
we go on with these pleasantries
pretending quaintness
when I know all you really want
is to scream.

You want to know where I've been,
why I don't respond to messages,
if there is a chance in hell
we can ever
go back there.

be friends even.

All you need is an answer,
a bit of peace,
a much appreciated
'fuck off'.

But instead
I leave you hanging on
with silence,
a promise to call,
that only comes
when I'm feeling
alone.

and sometimes
it never does.

But darling -
I pray, when it comes
you find the heart
to not pick me up.

Just let it ring.

07/08/2011

Author's Note:

Posted on 07/09/2011
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