I'd wait forever,
but forever means you'll never come.
The reason I'd wait so long is because
I've seen it all in my head; the soft belguim kisses
aligning the curves of our lips, like turning
a doorknob, with the flute-solo
in my gut, remember that you are a souvenir
of the feeling itself.
You bring all the seasons
drunk with color, placid green
grapefruit orange, milky white moon strokes
over the wine-tempered sunset.
Distorted and tossled.
Just the way I like it.
Just the way the love makes me feel,
Alive because of it's history.
You, walking in the hallways in seventh grade,
with your bones,
with your slick face,
causing me to wish in my chicken brain
that you could watch me jump rope; how I could do it
forwards and backwards, fast and with a twisted rope.
How magic would cling to each soft turn.
But it seems though I want to,
I cannot wait eternally.
Because there's never an end to eternity.
And there's never a beginning either. The word
itself denotes insanity, and
eternity is a circular word, like the earth, spinning on an axis
of widescreen dimensions
and no traffic lights
as memories sail and orbit.
So I'll wait one year, from now until next Christmas
for a serendipitous day
(Oh let it be at daytime)
for the construction signs to freckle with Glory.
You and me, invited to a bliss!
You in you're delicate mouth
kissing me dead.
My mouth is full of bees,
unable to wish no longer,
because time has not moved
nor can it.
Oh Forever!
must I injure you too?
How shall I then say that I will wait forever for you?
When I've already become every passing second
stuck on the windows, watching--
Like the Watchman wait for the morning
For you to call me your flame.
"A poem is never finished, only abandoned."
~Paul Valery