Circa 2006 (June 2017) (Posted in order above)
An olive tree in a hurricane, you pass me
Sitting at a high top table, head leaned against red brick
Just inside Four Peaks. I wake up
When, I swear, one wild, heavy, snaking, tendril
Reaches out and brushes my cheek.
I come here a lot,
And for a moment, I think you may be
One of the Usual Suspects
But you are no Keyser Söze, and I, no Verbal,
And I look up just quickly enough
For one black eye to meet mine, sidelong,
And I swear, my small shadowed eyes are still darker,
But your’s are big, inviting:
Perfect, and far more lovely.
Now I feel like a tiny Bean,
And my God, You are Awfully familiar.
I’ve seen you here before,
And, it is damn well possible,
You made this place what it is to me, home.
That I hoped I would see you here
And that we could get on here like we used to,
Except now old enough to drink beer,
because, “that taste, its all I’ve ever wanted, all I ever needed”
Ever since I had You, and its been awhile.
And now I feel my blood start to simmer,
But, I cannot put a name to You:
You are a Word on the tip of my frustrated tongue;
You are perfume on a crispy, fragile, wine stained note,
Whose words faded ages ago,
The same scent from that hair
That I buried my nose in during sleep,
As my hands searched for your pulse -
You are three beats from a forgotten favorite song, unascertainable,
Blaring from the speaker of a passing car, Doppler affected,
Redshifted into gibberish, but my head still nods,
And my foot still taps, instinctively.
I want to feel your bass
And mouth your melody,
But all I hear are those distorted echoes,
Sung in a language long forgotten, but,
Set to a rhythm my muscle memory still moves to.
I want grab fistfulls of your hair,
And pull you in close,
And blast “The Hardest Button to Button,”
While breathlessly unbuttoning buttons,
And breathe you in,
And brush those ruffled dark chocolate locks aside,
And remember your face,
And bite your big, ruddy, pillow lips
On your huge, effortless smile
And feel the thump of your soft chest against mine,
Set to the sound track of your husky, carefree laughter.
But I rummage through the dark places in my memory:
A room that has not seen light in seven years,
Long rows of cobwebbed file cabinets:
A single, lovely, glorious dark-earth strand, in
A blue, lonely Dust Pan.
@ello @ellowrites @elloart @elloblog @ello @ellodesign @ellopoetry @apoem_4u @elloart
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