3.10.06

Let's trade:
I'm offering you
almost everything.
All I want
is that look that lets me know
you know I'm there,
that passing hand on my waist that lets me know
you want me there,
even waking up
to you snoring in my ear
(then I don't feel guilty
about doing the same.)

My flowers wilt on the porch, parched
while I drown in the living room
and forget to nurture them
trying to kill everything else.

The way we finally met each other
isn't the kind of thing usually considered
"forgettable," y'know?

All I have of your side of this
are hazy memories of crackling phone calls
that I'm sure I missed the point of.
Give me something to go on.
If I'm making a fool of myself
I'd like to know now-

I think the garden, at least, can be salvaged.