Taken Nothing Away from the Left Coast

Back in the Better Borough, but far from feeling settled. Weekend was good, though uneventful save for the completion of another poem. Evidently, I looove writing on airplanes. Check it:

Taken

Husband.
Fiancee.
Boyfriend.

Fuck 'em!

Actually, don't.
That's kind of the whole problem.
Because I've been meaning to wax yo' ass
off and on like The Karate Kid
painting the fence of your ribcage
with fingertip brushstrokes
dipped in the electricity of every exchange
back-and-forth banter
more smoothly swapped
than Abbott and Costello antics

I don't know who was "on" first
or why we left what seconds
to pitch slowly between
today and tomorrow
because we were caught
centered in the moment
but best believe I understood
why you waited 45 minutes
to mention you were married/
betrothed/
someone's baby.

All I want to do is something
besides giving you an ego boost
a crush to compare that rush of
first-time feelings
you've committed not to cater to
promised to put down the platter
before samples are served
no offers of another
no smiles
no seducing sated appetites
with teases to excess
tempting fruit so juicy
it dribbles knowledge down chins
sins sticky from neck
to breastbone
to the hollows
beneath your heart.

Your finger traces rings
around the space we orbit in
twin revolutions never intended to touch;
two bodies floating
until intercepted by gravity
greater than our own.

But black holes absorb
even the brightest of lights
and sometimes it's best to stay circling
assembling stars to tango in tandem
until no one can tell
where the center once was
only see something beautiful
take it on its terms
and step away smiling
memories made
a moment at a time
camera clicks staying silent
because some scenes
should only be seen
when they're witnessed.

Husband.
Fiancee.
Boyfriend.

Fuck 'em.

Eventually, I'll be all three

for someone who's worth
this wait.

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