Don't breathe, don't move.
It might go away. This moment
this inbetween this not rock not hard place
I am random, I see that now. Periods.
I used to drive people crazy with my hand written poems
starting all over the page.
They said, why here? Halfway across
light blue lines on smooth milky white.
I am making time stand still
Time in the big sense
I am taking mental photos of how this feels
I am memorizing the luscious swing of my own hips
Documenting the pull of my shoulders
as I hold it all up.
I'll hold it up.
Until I get tired and then I'll
hand it over
let it drop
This is the sweet spot
between freedom and beloved capture
between knowing for sure
and playing the game
This is the moment to freeze in time
knowing there's more
not knowing what it will be
There will be more
hands and hair
There is always the Long Term
after the rush is over
when the wave receeds, still standing
and fixing eyes on each other
knowing this stays
I get this, in doses from far away,
unsullied by the usual complications.
I get love and pets, in words and smiles
copious from some and others I gratefully wait
Gratefully, I wait.
I promise I will wait. Sit. Breathe.
Here I am, complete and whole,
a show of my own.
And you are?