maybe I need you -
to be your writer,
your groupie, your roadie escorting you cross country. Photographs
with elms at restaurants, tourist attractions, buying sushi and fizzy
sodas at the grocery store. Candy cigarettes and record albums; vinyl
across the street from stoner hipster taco bars where 30 something
waitresses are unshaven and braless.
need you
we could build
libraries and renovate basements in northwestern old homes selling
for a costly price.
To play your music
late in the evening – before the fire, beneath the moonlight –
hanging lanterns on patios. Kittens that rub against the ankles. Sip
my wine, book flights to New York or overseas, going on castle tours
in the Scottish Highlands – to make love in the halls against the
damp walls of dungeons as the tour guide leads them all away. We
linger longer... smoke pot in coffee shops along Puget sound, the
musical water fountains of Seattle.
need you like
juicing after yoga, pay day paycheck spent on shampoo, underwear, and
kitchen necessities.
We are building a
utopia in our bedroom, snuggled tight beneath the amber Edisons, legs
twisted like chain links. Like long halls of laser tag, pinball,
confectionary etiquette of elite – (winning) wining and dining,
hors d'oeuvres, candlelight and the head of the table proposes a
toast – to us, to new beginnings and every party we walk out on,
every day left...
need...
