Wait and wait
Until it’s too late.
I think you used to think of me,
Maybe, in a different way.
There was a connection to fight;
An eager urge, a primal surge
always caught in a bottom lip bite.
Was that in your line of sight?
I think we used to be at ease in a way we aren’t now that freedoms seize.
Mellow to bright,
Blinding as first opening eyes to light;
I see and I’d like to hide.
I think of times that never were,
But could have been;
Things I’ve never said,
But could still mean.
I think often of things that mean nothing:
The soft second of skin against skin,
The scent of cologne subtly swaying through the den,
A warm and relentless strum played by hands I’ll never know,
A self proclaimed throne inside layers upon layers of walls made of stone.
I’d like to let it all go:
The solid sound of the same things on tv,
The way I laugh twice as loud at all the same jokes,
The absolute awareness of being almost a little too close,
The way you don’t seem to think very obviously of any of it,
And the desire to know if you’d dare be aware at all.
– E.B.