To Billy, his cornfields, and what might have been.

In Between

I laughed

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

handmade

by my own hands

with paper and pens

thinking

that inspiration

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

and joked

that you and I should get married

we made such a cute couple

me with my curls

and you with your unshaven self

against me.

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

numbing me.

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?

other then

the husks

of these plants

poking

and jabbing at my dreams of you

and I.

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.