lately there’s just been so many reasons
–not to write.
but fall is finally here
tastebuds called it too,
too soon,
months ago,
but I can hear the ACs finally stutter–
out.
taste of winter in the air,
hopeful thoughts maybe:
languid dreams of blankets
and your skin
the way it tastes
holiday pears
the juice running down my chin.
been a lot of reasons
of late,
to just sit ‘n watch
take life for what it handed
but in the dark
while we chattered
I told you that I adore you
‘n you whispered some french I didn’t know.
‘course we live in that
in-
-fo-
-may-
-tion
AGE
so I whipped up my phone ‘n looked it up.
‘course you tugged at it,
playful,
blushin’,
beautiful.
“you I love”
‘n ain’t,
ain’t that somethin’ after all?
roommate’s already got that fall chip goin’
half complainin’ that the heat’s gonna rise,
half complainin’ he can’t sleep ’cause his bed’s cold.
plus them leaves are startin’ in on ripe,
almost smell the mold waitin’ in the wings.
always hated fall to a “T”
can’t smell a thing
nose runnin’
everything worthwhile’s not for a few months yet.
don’t remember when I stopped enjoying Halloween.
but you’ve got your costume
thrown a few ideas at me
and I love the idea
I love the thought
but there ain’t that pull
maybe I’m wrong
maybe I’ll love every minute.
been usin’ the “I” stead of the “i”
pretty constant since we met.
‘n you pegged my love for Cummings right off the bat,
but your hate of Bradbury…
–how can you hate the weathervein in
Something Wicked This Way Comes?
for all the overhype ‘o the prose of Fahrenheit
in two sentences,
long dead,
he told me write reams.
‘n I did.
ain’t all good,
but it’s wrote.
Haven’t talked yet about Melvile,
or the beauty of useless aside
(almost think you’ll love him,
leastwise in that light)
yet to break Hawthorne ‘cross the dinner table,
-‘course if you love him,
maybe best left unsaid.
long as you don’t ask me to read Scarlet Letter again.
once was more than enough
twice was torture
thrice may have cost some sanity.
both love Shakespeare,
though I’m tragedy,
you’re comedy;
reckon’ the difference is nothin’ but syntax.
you hear the home in Eddings,
at least when I read to you.
Already you’ve tossed two books at me.
One I adore,
the other…
well it’s decent,
but these days…
it’s a rare book I read to the end.
it’s a rare book I read to the end.
been wanting to cook for you
but you got this way
of taking charge of things
even if I know better,
‘n it’s novel
been so long since I met someone as stubborn at me,
leastwise someone upfront about it.
got it in your head that I need takin’ care of,
but you don’t seem mad when I don’t let you.
and in the dark of night
when I said it back
we both agreed
that it best not to get in the habit
yet, anyhow.
longest you ever been at it is four months
‘n I been single for years,
not like that weren’t for some reason.
but winter’s finally
officially
truthfully
lookin’ over that horizon
‘n it’s been years since I had someone to keep me warm.
‘n the best dreams I’ve had in years
are in bed next to you.
been a lot of reasons not to write lately,
but I figured that needed a quick jottin’ down.
