Every tear that ever fell,
Every night of ocean’s swell,
Every scent and every smell,
And every year drawn from the well.
Every sunset that said farewell,
Every dancing molecule and cell,
Every stone that must rebel,
And on the memories we dwell.
Every peel of moon-tugged bells,
Every flow within the fontanelle,
Everything I shall foretell,
All, but whispers in the yell.
Between the coffee and the chocolate
that’s where we will be -
checking out, before the check-out,
eyeing basket tell-tailed groceries.
Our non touch dance without romance,
and furtive glance of no demand.
A flirtation, so subtly voiced
between the heaving aisles.
I watched you drawing,
and I was just so happy.
You crossed the road alone,
and found the best view
then set yourself up -
as if for the thousandth time.
Did you know I was sneaking
quick looks across the way?
You, sitting on that pavement box
like an awkward wunderkind.
Me, watching your head weaving,
back and forth - collecting
what you saw, placing it all
so carefully on the sketch
you drew so beautifully.
You looked so content,
so grown-up. I felt selfish
in my want for you to stay
forever in such a happy place
along with the scribblings
that marked your new adventure.
Ah well, at least you may remember
the day you drew a picture of our house
and the time you made your father
so very, very proud.
Who am I?
Well, I know this -
I am NOT you.
Unless of course,
you slept and dreamed
that we touched souls
in the night, merging
into one.
Who am I?
I am NOT who
you think I am.
Unless of course,
just in the thinking
you brought me into being -
formed me like some
imaginary friend.
Who am I?
Well, I’m NOT sure -
does it really matter
in the end?
Perhaps I am just
here, now,
in this moment
of you, wondering
who I am.
Let me think …
Is it almonds, butterscotch?
or chocolate coated marzipan?
It could be caramel even,
but it’s duskier than that.
Powdery, like sun dried sheets
or bathwater patchouli.
And then there’s citrus too,
(but not too perky)
like mulled wine
or lemon grove dew
in the morning.
All are taste of you.
Behind the puppet show
where children never go,
there stands a lonely man
who tugs the strings
that bind the arms
of childish things.
Behind the puppet show
and stripy canvas throws,
lie nervous little hands
with spinnered plans
to hide the charms
that clownhood brings.
Shame you missed the rainbow
I really wanted you to see,
it was like the edge
of a butterfly wing
magnified and stretched
across the sky.
Something about it
seemed so powerful,
so magical. I even believed
that on this strange day
it would curl from me
to you.
Caught you are
By your own invention.
That thing for which you previously cared.
Stuck you’ve become on the tangle side
Cat’s cradle threaded over hands with no thumbs,
Tripping steps through mask room of fate
Now resounding for someone else -
Someone you don’t know
(Or never knew).
Someone,
Never,
You.