muse(ings)

all i write about is you

(you sitting beside me in your matching sweatsuit
on the sweltering M train, seeing the darkness in my eyes)
(you lying beside me the shadow of the tree beside us
reaching out to grasp your face gently)
(you walking behind me panting, two steps behind,
unable to catch up)
(you standing at my side door at 10pm your face bright
red
with the cold, your ears safe in headphone earmuffs)
(you watching me carefully measuring each of my
facial expressions minutely
talking to me without words)
(you cracking my knuckles slowly
as i wince)
(you reaching over and penciling a small heart in my
notebook)
(you when i ask how you are and you say i don't know and
we both know that you lie)
(you next to me (we almost never sit across from each other
if we can avoid it) holding your menu and considering)
(you reading me poetry
the words lavish on your lips)
(you in my mind when i close my eyes
and you're sprinkled in my dreams
as if it is impossible to extract you
from me now)

your face when you whisper me words
and we both realize that in this moment
they have slipped out of us eagerly
that our emotions have broken the sea-clear surface
and refuse to be ignored