Poems and Lovelorn Thoughts, Vol. VI

Thoughts on Going Home

I hope there are Mourning

Doves on the blue

Grass, tittering

Soft as silence, or

Love deferred —

Or anything akin to

What I know.

I want there to be

Light through windows,

Kisses overcast and

Somehow — sad —

I want the comforts

Of carpet and smudged

Mirrors — and the

Charms of Voices,

Not only in my

Head.

I like to think

You like to think

The Same.

Predictions

It’ll be coffee

On Monday, with the

Same thoughts — half

Asleep — beads of

Water on a mismatched

Mitten.

It’ll be nothing

On Tuesday, with the

Same aches — wide

Awake — drops of

Silent dew on mirrored

Eyes.

It’ll be coffee, again,

On Wednesday — oddly

Cheery — lines of gold

On top-shelf

Spines.

It’ll be longing

On Thursday — ever

Hopeful — faces never

There, but never

Gone.

It’ll be coffee, again

On Friday — Wide eyes,

Expectant  — seeing

Everything I left

Behind.

It’ll be dreams

On Saturday — lost

In Thought — until the

Glimpses fade, for

Another

Night.

And it’ll be coffee,

Of course, on Sunday,

With the

Same thoughts — wide

Awake — beads of water

On a mismatched

Mitten.

Infinitely Ours

I swore I’d crack the cipher —

Grasp the page, unravel codes —

I dreamed myself a translator,

At night.

But every scribbled key —

Was nothing when you —

Looked at me —

Because I saw

That the answers

Were wordless,

And infinitely

Ours.

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