Tonight I will sit here by this ragged railing.
I can see you pace around your room, your clumsy arms groping
Around, your face set in that familiar frown.
Do you know my darling, that i'm standing here holding up a candle?
So that you don't trip over those little things that I know you've left lying around.
I know what you're thinking of.
Our sun-kissed Saturday mornings.
French toast off those hideous purple paper plates.
Sleazy songs on the antique newly-repaired radio.
Running barefoot on the un-mowed dew drenched grass.
I liked all that; you are so easy to love.
Now you're thinking of those hot, sticky nights that we stayed up to talk,
while we stared at the green and grey moths whirring closer and closer to the dull lampshade.
I had winced, you'd wanted to keep them as pets. Then we'd talked.
About skimming stones from a lighthouse and eating half molten bourbon biscuits,
About the music of old cuckoo clocks, and the uses of orange zest.
About french pronunciations and the cutest cats of the neighborhood
About distant eccentric aunts and their eccentric bequests.
We had laughed a lot then, the curtains stirred from our laughter.
Now I know your mind will turn to those blue-green hills that we went to, streaked with rain.
You are so poetic, I could not help loving you when you asked me,
'What do these trees talk about, locked in their complex tangles?
Where do these birds bury their dead kin?
What scuttled behind that intricate rustle of bright hued bush?'
Where your childlike questions ended, there did my far-fetched answers begin.
Now you'll shake your head in tiny, nervous shakes, and
Look down at this railing across which we'd smiled at each other for the first time.
You'll blink rapidly to check if its really me you're looking at again.
Then you'll bite your lip, scratch your head and smile, tentatively first,
Then right to the depths of your chocolate eyes.
I'll smile back, wont i?