flowers started growing in the darkest
parts of my mind?”
Is it supposed to be endearing? appealing? Is it supposed
make them seem charming? ravishing?
They’re questions without answers. Rhetorical, like poems.
When I met you, flowers didn’t grow.
But the dark parts did get a little lighter,
to light the cigarette, that you never light
because you’re Augustus Waters in my head,
on my shoulders. And you make me smile.
It’s 10pm. I’m sitting in bed.
I haven’t spoken to you in a week,
And my knees are getting weak
to be Frank, though that isn’t my name
and without you thinking I’m lame.
I want you to know, I wish we talked more
Because you’re unlike any other
I know there are many more, of me
But, please don’t let that scare you
away. I just really want to go camping,
spend the night, telling the stars secrets
we hoped the other didn’t know in the morning.
It’s just a walk in the park,
Just a twitch of the nose,
Just a tickle of the finger
tips, till we’re giggling and touching
and fawning and thanking–God
that you’re alive. To thrive on the
I hope you really like it. Even though I cannot decode it.
I want to like you more than a casual hello
And this is the most daring thing I’ve ever done.
