Saturday, May 23, 2020

(untitled)

I wish you were up,
That I would roll over
To see your eyes staring back.
That you would run your fingers
Into the dark cobwebs in my mind,
Work your fingertips into the tangled thoughts
And pull at them, untying my day, easing the night away.
I wish I could wrap you into my arms when it’s blustery out.
To burn as a beacon guiding you home when you storm,
Find strange crockery that somehow sings to me of you,
To be strong enough to move your couch in.
Couching meaning in pidgin argot,
Fused from shared memories.
To dress the nape of your neck
With warm whispers
Far after white whiskers
Grow over long.

No comments: