Roses are red
Violets are blue
I really miss bagels
I also miss you
I really miss cream cheese,
Sriracha, and donuts
Reeses cups, cypress trees
Target, fruit roll-ups
I really miss kissing
The nape of your neck
And the fit of your cheekbone
Just above my armpit
And what the hell are rhyme schemes
When we’re talking about important things
Like the sweet ease of mutual quiet over noodles, as
I lay my chopsticks down at the altar of your smile.
Like the cool still moment before dawn when the first bird sings
and you launch into Palestrina to join it.
(Poor confused bird. Poor confused me)
Like how I miss sweet tea vodka but
Mostly just drinking it with you
And fruit roll ups
And only if
You unroll them for me.
My loves are far and several but important.
5 miles from Etretat
Yesterday I walked out of an impressionist painting
Or maybe seventeen of them
And when I surfaced from the ocean of views
Pre-catalogued in oils
When I walked five miles down the coast
I saw a chapel hovering above an inland sea of yellow
New, and old, a painting of my own.
I thought, as I pushed through those yellow stems
That the next instant I would simply pause
Be trapped in the moment
A few dabs of paint in an image of my own creation,