Missed Connections
Coffee makes me cry anymore:
waking up to the way I felt about the world
yesterday, but which way I had slept off
while I kissed you.
The sobriety of giving love:
I am only just learning, you know.
I am only just learning, be slow
in taking
the assurance I gave you that the world was going to be fine.
What a wonderful task for me to put my mind to -
and I still won’t ever want to call it a lie.
Which is to call out to you, my dear witch, you are the magical truth.
Oh and I believe, you know, but then something hits -
I know you know this -
something fuzzy like punk
or majestic like looking down from very high.
And all the sudden it’s too much truth,
like the actual silver numbers on how many people spend
how much time on craigslist,
waiting for missed connections to write them back.