(no subject)
it's strange how these habits form.
how a weeknight will come around and
whims run the game.
the next plate, the next drink,
the action before, the action after...
i end up talking a bit too long
about things i think too much about -
someone who i like or
someone who doesn't love me or
someone who doesn't love me anymore.
...what i'm going to do next, when
this all fades with travel and time.
it has become so regular that
most of the time i'll come down this road
and see the lights turn red
all at once before blinking yellow
til tomorrow morning.
a friend called me for my address
even though he could walk to my house in the dark.
he needs a reference for an apartment
and can't remember the number of the house.
he fills out a line on the application
reminding us it's been 10 years since we met.
on the way home a song comes on
that i found familiar a while back
but now it reminds me only of when and not why.
it was raining a little bit in the summer
and we tried to save a turtle wanting to cross the road.
this was the first time i remember in new hampshire -
buying a ton of cheap beer for his little brother and
loving a car of people shutting up without being asked
at a quiet song.
the lights turn to a blinking yellow and
at least a mile ahead, a slow pulse down the streets.
a heated mile down the beach at
and i keep slapping my legs, bitten and sunburned
not knowing later today i'll feel at home with you.
naked and aching with the nantucket sun
with recently requited tastes.
i'll pass this way like it was years ago
wishing while trailing behind you in the tidepools,
bashful and silenced by passion and anger...
that this was a distance as easy to cross
as the few feet i had to cover to shake your hand and say hello.
how a weeknight will come around and
whims run the game.
the next plate, the next drink,
the action before, the action after...
i end up talking a bit too long
about things i think too much about -
someone who i like or
someone who doesn't love me or
someone who doesn't love me anymore.
...what i'm going to do next, when
this all fades with travel and time.
it has become so regular that
most of the time i'll come down this road
and see the lights turn red
all at once before blinking yellow
til tomorrow morning.
a friend called me for my address
even though he could walk to my house in the dark.
he needs a reference for an apartment
and can't remember the number of the house.
he fills out a line on the application
reminding us it's been 10 years since we met.
on the way home a song comes on
that i found familiar a while back
but now it reminds me only of when and not why.
it was raining a little bit in the summer
and we tried to save a turtle wanting to cross the road.
this was the first time i remember in new hampshire -
buying a ton of cheap beer for his little brother and
loving a car of people shutting up without being asked
at a quiet song.
the lights turn to a blinking yellow and
at least a mile ahead, a slow pulse down the streets.
a heated mile down the beach at
and i keep slapping my legs, bitten and sunburned
not knowing later today i'll feel at home with you.
naked and aching with the nantucket sun
with recently requited tastes.
i'll pass this way like it was years ago
wishing while trailing behind you in the tidepools,
bashful and silenced by passion and anger...
that this was a distance as easy to cross
as the few feet i had to cover to shake your hand and say hello.