#poem7

Your deep blue eyes saw me

in a familiar light.

You knew me

at my weakest,

You melted me,

corrupted my soul

 This is where I held

your deepest thoughts,

your darkest desires.

Your demons rested

in the chambers of my heart.  

The sign read:

“No Vacancy.”

 My own demons had not yet escaped.

and yours didn’t mind the company.

 Scorching my entire soul,

They cast fires through my lungs

Burning with each cigarette I inhaled

I tried to cover where they dwelled.

 Even to this day,

they spark inside of me

But instead of burning with passion

or lust

They blaze with hatred,

far more potent,

If I only had a day to live,

I’d fly myself to Spain

And if I had a week to live,

I’d be on that same plane

Now if I had a month,

after a week’s Seattle rain,

I’d fly to you once more

to do the same old thing again

But if I had a year to live,

I’d visit you one time

I’d let you have more space

As I would hope you’d give me mine

But when those four months end

if you’re still causing me to pine,

I’d want against my chest

the girl so heavy on my mind

If I had 5 years left to live,

I’d let you have your space

And through 4 months of waiting

for the warmth of your embrace

I would reflect on what we have

and hope we both still want to chase

What we’ve had when you get back,

though I imagine that’s the case

Now if I had a decade

I don’t know what I would change

I’d want you more immediately,

if that could be arranged

But I think the way I feel right now

is more or less the same

as the way I’d feel with seconds

running slowly down the drain

I believe we’ve 80 years

and so I wait for you tonight

I only question, in your final day,

I opened this can of beans and found the return trajectory to the moon. First one in forty-three years.

I opened the return trajectory to the moon and found a box of used condoms. They may have been used on that trip. We’ll never be sure.

I opened the box of used condoms and found -- well, you can imagine.

I opened that, spooned it apart, and found a small ant.

How can I be beautiful?

Without emerald eyes or midnight-colored hair?

That shines like stars,

No diamonds, in a sea of pitch-black silk.

How can I become so lovely?

I have no golden tress or flesh so soft and fair,

Against the sunlight,

Pure and radiant,

Rose-petal lips that part when sighing.

Lashes long,

The sky vying,

For one piece of jewel-toned blue.

As I do for one spec of you.

To have just a tiny part --

Even miniscule