Here we are again, because I’m playing catch-up as always. Day three of this “30 days to a better blog” is supposed to be going back to that original idea of starting this blog and actually doing it. Originally I started this blog with WordPress because I heard it was a great platform (and it seriously is a wonderful, beautiful thing), good for writers to share things and interact. So I’m going to share with you a poem that I’ve written. How many more times poems will be here, I’m not sure, but we’re following directions. Mostly.
Too Late – Aug. 2013
The buildings are tall here
and they all seem as though they have
a story to tell.
But I’m not interested in talk of wars or fires:
I’m interested in the space between the steps you take.
We talk together, but in reality,
I’m following you, walking a half-step behind,
watching you from the corner of my eye
and listening to the sound of your voice
down these empty streets.
And it echoes loudly. And it mixes
with our footsteps on aging cobblestone;
it is magic and I am
Somewhere between telling my mother I love her
and riding the train home with you,
I looked at you and realized I want
Just a glance in my direction simply wont’ suffice;
leaning into my while laughing is only a tease.
I’m looking for meaning behind your eyes
and passion in your touch;
it’s not enough to know I’m going home with you.
I want to know that I’ll belong here
in the morning.
And then it’s over.
I’m dressed to go and resigned to think
less is all I’m meant to have,
only to have you kiss me as though
you care more than you let on;
you said not ever fuck deserves a cuddle
-but we had never fucked.
You kissed me goodbye at the train,
said you’d like to see me off when I fly to college next week:
that’s when I knew I’d fallen into
the worst kind of love.