Sophie!

You splendiferous nymph! Your petite footfalls continue to patter my early morning floor. I follow the delicate creaking through sleep. Then disorientation sets in from your sudden desertion. My disbelieving hand leaps like a fish out of water on the warm space you leave—trying to comprehend what happened—where you went. I press my sleepy face to the window and watch you walk away down the street. You turn to see me, shirtless, looking back.

I was just thinking about you, and I feel

very Sophie-ish
very Elusive!
very Majestic!
very Baroque!

Silence is better than turning over every rock. We’d rather sit atop them and look out into the distance with well rested clarity. There are plenty of tin roofs between us to belabor the sound of rain in all its voluminous hyperbole. Let them express our pain and sorrow so we can focus on what we want.

& if what we want is to walk away
only to see if they
will watch us go
from down the street
through the window;
then needing someone like you isn’t so bad.