the present
so many echoes in my head that when i am frantic to do something about anything, out comes "you were wearing..." or i knock my head against a wall out of my own appetite for despair and come up with "you once ran naked toward me/knee deep in cold march surf" or i blame it on blake, on robert aldrich's kiss me deadly, on the 'latitude' of the stars
but where in all this noise am i waiting for the clouds to be blown away away away into the sun, i wouldn't want the clouds to be burped back by that hot optimistic cliché, it hangs always promising some nebulous healthy reaction to our native dark
i will let the sun wait until summer now that our love has moved into the dark area symbolizing depth and secrecy and mystery & it's not bad, but we shall find out when the light returns what the new season means, when others' interpretations have gotten back onto the pedestals we gave them, so long as we are still wearing each other when alone