To Billy, his cornfields, and what might have been.
at the corn that he stacked sky high in the back of his 78' pick up truck
with twenty dollars worth of ice
to cozy in between their sun-shinny folds.
I was a different person that day
with my flip flops and short skirt.
I had wanted to please him
to have myself in between his fingers
rather then the money that he was dreaming about.
I packed my denim backpack
by my own hands
with paper and pens
would strike me like a bolt of lightning
and the power of another verse would leave me unconscious in his arms.
I wanted a day with him
not his corn
and the market of on lookers
who all gawked
that you and I should get married
we made such a cute couple
me with my curls
and you with your unshaven self
We could have made it,
made it better then the corn
that didn't sell.
We could have looked better then the pea green paper
that you wanted so badly
but that wasn't there at the end of the day.
We could have fond
and swollen ourselves inside the others embrace.
I could have made you a king
within my hands
like I love to do with my paramours
but your silence
was the ice against the corn
I looked out the window
on the way home
thinking of us
or the pleasant idea that those people were taking home with them
instead of your corn.
What had you said earlier that morning to describe the fields:
"A golden pathway of emerald rings!"
Where was my ring?
of these plants
and jabbing at my dreams of you
I love the way you look
and the way that you love to do everything different then your father.
I love how you care for these fields
and what they could be someday.
I love that you don't feel the same way about me
and I love that you let me go with you.
On the outside I laughed
but on the inside all I wanted was you.