She taps her foot at the end
of the table and hums a steady beat
of moonlight whistles and silken
treats and says:
You know,
I have never been afraid of being
a little too much
or an overwhelming sense of small
until I met you -
Tell me, do you ever feel significant
to the point of being irrelevantly unwanted?
His smile stayed not so much a smile but
more a hard line etched in stone.
She really should have known that
to have him answer a question, was almost
as hard as managing to surf board without
anything but the ocean to stand on.
His eyes cast down
depicting a frown with arms holding his drink and
soon, she knew that she had taken a
cow to each and every answer
but she could not get him to think.
Or talk, do anything deciding weakness
and the truth is:
yes he’s not well but so are we all and lord knows
that makes no one any form of special.
Everyone is tired and lonely and
anxious to think that their bones have an itch
of longing that no pair of lips could ever learn to scratch.
Recklessly she felt she had uttered to herself
the subtle words of “I might go” which is never as
useful as “I will go”
The matter of his paper cut world was always
something worth composing a storm over but still:
She knew together they were the only two people
with these coloured wings, getting far to attached to things
that only matter when they stayed put- Oh but my dear
The rain drops are dripping through the roof top
and time is singing hymns just on the doorstep,
what does this mean besides
the fact that their own disposability,
was the greatest unearthed secret they have ever kept?
