Friday, April 3, 2009
...and so i reach the end of the book.
"you never told me you wrote poems!
that was the nicest thing i've read..."
i see you smile,
that heart throbbing smile of yours.
Second time around, i pretend to read,
trying to figure out,
that cologne you're wearing.
i love the clever things you write
"there's more to you, than meets the lips"
you could be talking about either,
i hardly know you...
seven years is just for the records.
its minutes to midnight,
your voice is doing things to me...
i just wish you'd keep talking all night,
and come a little closer,
only so i can hear you better...
you talk about friends and foes,
in a trance, i agree and nod.
mumbling, i string words together,
merely to prove i'm following,
and not thinking about him...
you sense me drifting, slowly away,
and offer me a drink.
i turn it down and wisely so,
your eyes are intoxicating me enough.
i liked that you asked me to dance,
i liked that you haven't changed a bit,
i hate lilies; but "hey... nice flowers"
the song is perfect, but i haven't waltzed before;
i've seen your face, but never looked before.
it sets me on fire when you look at me like that,
cant seem to break this gaze.
its a slow dance & still i'm breathless,
my knees feel weak; i think i'll succumb,
on a pitch black night
even sinning feels right
don't you see it yet...?
oh read between the lines...
his face disturbing me no more,
i'm inches away from letting go of reason.
silence has set in for the first time tonight,
but you decide let go & end our dance!
standing there; slightly unhinged,
i see you return,
hands full of parchment...
more silence, as i read these poems,
poems that you wrote for....
* * *
quarter to three;
we've been speaking for hours now.
i like your whiskey breath...
i like it when you are this close to me...
and there's one last thing i need to say,
i'm drunk on you,
don't leave me here,
all high and dry...
just come with me to bed tonight,
i can no more tell green from red.
lets not discuss wrong and right,
for i'm blind, too blind tonight.
Written in the wait for the single guy I've loved all my life.
This is just a poem. I don't know what happened to him.