To the One Who Writes About the Pretty Girl
August 16, 2011 § 2 Comments
Do you write better
when you are fixated upon longing,
Is it easier for you to imagine,
Which one aches like an open sea,
like an empty home at Christmas time?
Will you talk again at length
of the worlds, more lonely yet
that you swim away to when you close your eyes?
Does she look the same as she did
the night you yelled at each other
at the back of that cab–
the one that smelled like canned lemon,
like all relationships do
as they near their end?
Or does she transform in every dream,
her hair taking a life of its own
and surrounding you like a forest
of soft brown vines?
Is it more difficult to say this word, pregnant,
bursting with all the hope in the world
that you have to your name,
or this word, retired
sounding a little bit like pain?
I guess all I really want to know is,
do you love from a distance, or do you
another one of your hearts?