Got up in the morning,
Still reeling from
The night visions
Awoke to a quiet home
Empty kitchen
Wistfully filling up
My happy emptiness
Raising my hopes
Will she like this?
My expectation for her
Still standing, like my desire
To be in love with her
Like the sixteen miles of Tehachapi Pass
I wait for her to speak
Though 2018 is moving fast
Though July and August are coming in fast
I guess I’ll sit here, still
By her door step
While she
Cleans her dishes, washes her clothes
Laughs at her husband’s
Smeared hands with
Black random stripes of
Cherry Blossom shoe polish
“Black,” “PRESS HERE.”
“Like my exhausted heart,”
I mumble to myself
Nearly crashing through
Nearly calling her out
Nearly saying, “Isn’t it time for me?”
I guess it’s all a history now
The day wears on
I unpack my bags
Clean my dishes, wash my clothes
Smile at your picture
Walk around my empty house
Drift into tomorrow’s needs
And write poetry
Pedantic as me
Not fantastic as you
Featured image: Dorelia Wearing a Turban (1912) by Augustus John, WikiArt.org
