You’re in the air, flying across
the
flying across gulfs and streams,
some of my favorite countries.
I had a dream that you emailed me.
Sentiments often repeated, I’ve found,
lose their gilded skins, and checking
my inbox was disappointing.
And now I wake up next to your facsimile,
brown eyes and stubbled jaw.
His snores are loud enough to create an avalanche.
Your eyes are broken:
big, brown, sad.
The half-smile that lies on your lips
never quite reaches them.
I don’t sleep at night
because it’s those eyes I see
in the dark.
They are haunting, and beautifully so.
When I catch them with mine,
they plead.
Are you aware?
They must be deceiving you.
They're deceiving me.
Blue, black ink dots and lines my
palms, my fingers,
evidence of a diligent distraction.
Words swirl and poke, page upon page
until there is room for nothing more.
Tomorrow, the spots will be gone
and new ink will meander
lazily unto my skin.
New words, sometimes just repetitions
of former ones,
find their way on the blank pages,
an example of their dogged loyalty.
They twist and twirl, structuring themselves
into phrases, rhymes,
flowing and flying from the end of
my pen.
Evergreen and laundry,
scents I’ve tied you to.
Clean, fresh-the
first snow of the season.
The flakes float down and
land on our heads, huddled
and making dragon’s breath.
Our scarves are wrapped tightly
and we’re wearing dull
winter coats; never looking
more radiant.
My hands are chapped, but
it doesn’t matter because yours
are calloused from hard work.
We are Ethan and Mattie.
Both coy and shy, yet we are
simultaneously lit
and burning, melting the snow
as it makes a final, futile effort to stick.
Remember that.
This is about me
and sometimes you.
I have just reached twenty-two.
What an unglamourous age filled with questions
and doubts.
Heartache arrives in droves when I realize
I have not achieved my goals.
You wished me a happy birthday
but did not use my name.
Casual, like our acquaintance.
I am a cowardess and you, a coward.
We understand how the other works because
we are one another.
You are me and I am you
and yet, we are two
worlds apart.
The sky crumbles around our heads.
You watch as the blues and blacks morph into
a strange combination
and I reach my curious hand out to catch a star or two.
You whisper that you expected it to be different,
more tragic, more romantic.
“But it’s not,” I say. “It just is what it is.”
The stars in my palm begin to burn,
and I release them.
They fall with a jingle from my freshly raw flesh.
Last leaves of fall crash down around our heads
and I wonder if the sky is falling.
You claim that it can’t, and glance at your watch.
It’s not quite time.
I’ll wait
because it’s what I do best.
Remember, though, that
I can’t wait forever.
January will come,
and soon, so no
more dawdling, please.
You said that you won’t
be dancing,
I said that was just
fine.
I lied.
You couldn’t ever catch
the disappointed inflection
in my voice because you don’t
wait for my words like I wait
for yours.
