Poem I

My lover brings the smell of rainy roses Petals beaten, heads down, living done Rising from them a humid stench of wrongness But fragrant while they last, swaying with the sun. Because your hands from my mind are never too far, Things can seem to me to be more than what they are. I wish the same pull which pulls this ink to its bed Could pull you into my life and out of my head. Though I remain here stuck in present eternal bliss A calendar would scoff at the few squares it kissed. I won’t pretend to know what you miss But if you held my lens of tiny hopes Up to your eyes to try and see the same You’d find that my vision’s honey-tinged With despair and defeat and love, unexpectedly sane. And if I do see you sitting on my sofa where you’ve never sat, Don’t look at me with pity, just help me turn it into fact.