45 minute conversations.

by Poet on the Piano   Sep 21, 2014

The sun was burning my scalp.
11 a.m. seemed near midnight--
a solar eclipse-- my moons obscuring
the obvious sunlight.

I hadn't removed my green and black
flannel shirt.
Stones were chucking themselves at me
while motorcycles drowned out the
sound of my heartbeat
(that I was trying to bear to you).

I desperately wanted to ask the color
of your thoughts, when I walked and talked
and stared in confusion at the wasp's
nest Father hadn't knocked down yet.

You mentioned I might not be able
to take the first step alone
(was it okay that I told you I need you?
that I feel so safe when you're near?)

Written 9/20/14 @ 11:38 PM


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