Tuesday, February 26, 2013

And So It Goes

She refers to me as her love
I look down at the floor and mumble “good morning”
 I don’t love her back
I think she knows this, but continues with it anyway
She knows that I need her
She knows that my love is fleeting
That I ache for what she gives me
But not for her
I wonder if she remembers mistaking me for someone
She is still mistaken
I, still, am not
Perhaps I should throw my poems at her feet
Page by page
So she knows I don’t give a fuck
I dreamt once, that lost poems
Were like sex to a nymph’s heart
     But mine were the key to her legs
 I dreamt that beautiful women
Sang perfect songs on guitars
And as I listened, their eyes closed told me
About each note and its love of us
I dreamt once that girls sent me pictures of their cleavage
And never showed their faces
But I knew who they were
Because I was a rock star
A poet
I dreamt that I cheated death, more than once
Only to die, asleep, in a burning building
That I knew what it felt like to be alone
And I felt
I dreamt once that I felt
That I wrote songs about the way we move
San Jose
And the Wisconsin woods
I once dreamt about what it was like to leave
To die
And to travel
I dreamt once, that I was someone else
That looked just like me
That could love her back without reason
I dreamt that I had never bought an alarm clock
Or cellular phone or anything else that needed charging
I dreamt once, that I was organic
And never needed charging
But I did and I do
So this brings me here, to my love of being her love
     She still calls me her love
And I am not sure she means it
So I say “good morning”
hand her my dreams
And she says "thank you"

1 comment:

  1. what an interesting relationship in this...all th elove yet unsureness...yet willing to share dreams ....i rather like the unplugged word a bit as well...and not needing charging...i could go for that...