I’ve stopped looking at things
and seeing them, really,
irresolute detailing;
minute sand of
rock; planet
of granite,
I can’t
un-
d
e
r
s
t
a
n
d
it;
I w-
ant a
person
to hide m-
y secrets, to
share their re-
grets with, who
‘ll let me pursue m-
y interests, and then
some! who’ll whisper s-
entiments without judgem-
ents, or pretense; I want som-
e semblance of events that lead to
great weekends, the kind that are so
kind they weaken pride, and we can, w-
e can, I, you, you and I, we can be our own
beacon, and we can awaken to a vacation wh-
en we want; that can be our life, everyday a mom-
ent of escape when our embrace takes shape, ok, be-
cause the fuzz we feel is real—in our belly— actual love,
finally, on the isles, and I’ll cry while I smile, and nothing
will matter but the patterns of your hair, your palpitations, a-
nd exhalations of air—all offbeat— because— we can’t camoufl-
age our flaws and expect to be loved (+ blah blah blah something)