LJ Idol 10: Week 2--That One Friend
City Diner
Metairie, LA
Before you spend the night again
I've gone for
breakfast at the diner
where we met up with that friend of mine--
the one near the hotel where
I'm staying because
after all of the space we've
given to and taken from
each other
these last few months,
it seemed better to sleep
apart than to try to sleep together.
No--that's a lie.
I wanted to see you and
I wanted my space and
I wanted to know if you want.
Before you spend the night again,
before I spend the day that
leads and bleeds to the night
I'm sitting in this diner
bustle | chatter | life
to collect
to collect
to collect
to collect my heart back to my mind.
Before you spend the night again,
I need to see and hear and feel the space and weight
of them,
these people smiling | drinking | eating | laughing their morning
before they head into the city to taste | eat | laugh it
for themselves,
to remind myself that I, too,
am just a traveler here,
and the two or so miles that seperate
you &
me
right now
might as well be the usual one hundred eighty-eight
or the dozen inches you
only traversed once today
in the small morning hours
when maybe you were just
aware enough to know that
I was there to touch but not
aware that touch is
like water is
like fire is
like dropping weight on a dry plain and
finding yourself trying
to make out the horizon
through the cloud.
Before you spend the night again,
I need to sit here
surrounded by these travelers in their
pairs | families | packs,
to anchor myself among those who are away from home
to know that I will return tomorrow, too,
return to
the only space we share,
small windows in glass screens.
Before you spend the night again,
before we lie with and to each other again,
before we wonder if the healing we need can
even or ever be found
by crossing that ocean of inches,
I need to
close my eyes
breathe in deep
sip my coffee
re-member
so that when
you spend the night again I won't be tempted
to forget.
This was written in response to the Week 2 prompt at therealljidol.
Metairie, LA
Before you spend the night again
I've gone for
breakfast at the diner
where we met up with that friend of mine--
the one near the hotel where
I'm staying because
after all of the space we've
given to and taken from
each other
these last few months,
it seemed better to sleep
apart than to try to sleep together.
No--that's a lie.
I wanted to see you and
I wanted my space and
I wanted to know if you want.
Before you spend the night again,
before I spend the day that
leads and bleeds to the night
I'm sitting in this diner
bustle | chatter | life
to collect
to collect
to collect
to collect my heart back to my mind.
Before you spend the night again,
I need to see and hear and feel the space and weight
of them,
these people smiling | drinking | eating | laughing their morning
before they head into the city to taste | eat | laugh it
for themselves,
to remind myself that I, too,
am just a traveler here,
and the two or so miles that seperate
you &
me
right now
might as well be the usual one hundred eighty-eight
or the dozen inches you
only traversed once today
in the small morning hours
when maybe you were just
aware enough to know that
I was there to touch but not
aware that touch is
like water is
like fire is
like dropping weight on a dry plain and
finding yourself trying
to make out the horizon
through the cloud.
Before you spend the night again,
I need to sit here
surrounded by these travelers in their
pairs | families | packs,
to anchor myself among those who are away from home
to know that I will return tomorrow, too,
return to
the only space we share,
small windows in glass screens.
Before you spend the night again,
before we lie with and to each other again,
before we wonder if the healing we need can
even or ever be found
by crossing that ocean of inches,
I need to
close my eyes
breathe in deep
sip my coffee
re-member
so that when
you spend the night again I won't be tempted
to forget.
This was written in response to the Week 2 prompt at therealljidol.