lunesque | (no subject)

Okay, my dearest darling,

clearly_unable asked for fluffy me/her poetry, so this is what I came up with. Hopefully, it's good enough. <3

i.

In you there are a million reflections of truth,
and each one makes me ache;
there are times I believe you could bring clay to life
for it would gain its soul from your words.
You laugh and call me affectionate names,
rolling your eyes as I insist that I'm telling the truth
until it becomes a warm secret in my heart,
an extra softness in the smile I save just for you.
[it is true, I say, because when I found you,
I was clay,
and you gave me my soul in return.]

ii.

I've always taken a special joy in teasing you,
saying that we live vicariously through our muses
because it's the only way to touch.
And yet, when I think of firsts, that's what I see:
fingers brushing hesitantly against a hand,
laughter pulled into the breeze;
a tension not fully our own.
Revolving in a world of and then? and what if?
we would reach for each other and then--
and then there wouldn't be any masks between us at all.

iii.

It's the quiet times I like the best--
you and I resting beneath the shade of a tree.
I, with my nose buried in a book,
you, learning how to blow shapes in your smoke,
our duck waddling around
and quacking hopefully for morsels of bread.

Every five minutes I'll wrinkle my nose
and lecture you about how you could find
a better [cheaper] way to kill yourself.
You'll wave my concerns away until you grind the cigarette out
and find more pleasant ways to keep me quiet.

You'll taste of smoke and ashes,
and I'll remember old stories about flame and hope.
[your mouth is an acquired taste--
yet, you are my only addiction.]

And I know that although we might not be Forever,
you will always be my Now.

[even at our end
we will always be a beginning]