She has ever always held my eyes with swaying
Limbs that angle like a corner park
Not my Valentine, eyed radiant greens are inside
my mind, singing a birdsong.
Not my Valentine.
There are curves to her wits that take my Thursday away,
Not my Valentine.
This, why, ten times I thought, unsure,
unspoken, no questions,
Not my Valentine.
I will dream alone again forever
in higher goodbyes
glitches of kindness
a remainder.
unloved, sad, oh, look at my sad face.
sad, oh, so sad. look at my sad distance.
so sad. She laughs, and my sadness is gone.
Absurd sadness transformed.
But in distance I grow,
desires unforeseeable present the keys:
a day beyond me it will always be,
she will always be penultimate Valentine.
I'm Wednesday, you're Thursday, probably already have a Thursday,
and Wednesday doesn't do it for you anyway, I'm not even Wednesday,
I'm Tuesday, Tuesday morning at best...
and these are raindrops on the needle of a cactus,
only so deep as
Marks of ink.
Looking for ley lines,
random meanings that say Leslie,
like how could this rain, this random rain,
how could that drop mean You?
Wednesday loves Thursday, it thinks....
In unthinking.
But one can never be
if the other is,
always their present moments
only cross at a midnight,
and then a second apart,
always a second apart,
never the same day.
Would another Thursday make you smile?
I once looked at you, twice, you
smiled, that smile that looks like love
and it was enough. I remember when
I used to get looked at like that.
Like someone loved me.
I can't ask, because I can't and I can't,
I'm not sure if that is what was in your green eyes,
those windows twisted by wind, I'm not sure
if that was your smile, only the happiness I felt
can I know, I can only know my
love and confusion.
Not my Valentine.
Penultimate Valentine.
I felt twice then alive, it's painful
to remember what its like,
to remember love and know
its not in your life.
It's like Wednesday loving Thursday
and that passing second of midnight.
Limbs that angle like a corner park
Not my Valentine, eyed radiant greens are inside
my mind, singing a birdsong.
Not my Valentine.
There are curves to her wits that take my Thursday away,
Not my Valentine.
This, why, ten times I thought, unsure,
unspoken, no questions,
Not my Valentine.
I will dream alone again forever
in higher goodbyes
glitches of kindness
a remainder.
unloved, sad, oh, look at my sad face.
sad, oh, so sad. look at my sad distance.
so sad. She laughs, and my sadness is gone.
Absurd sadness transformed.
But in distance I grow,
desires unforeseeable present the keys:
a day beyond me it will always be,
she will always be penultimate Valentine.
I'm Wednesday, you're Thursday, probably already have a Thursday,
and Wednesday doesn't do it for you anyway, I'm not even Wednesday,
I'm Tuesday, Tuesday morning at best...
and these are raindrops on the needle of a cactus,
only so deep as
Marks of ink.
Looking for ley lines,
random meanings that say Leslie,
like how could this rain, this random rain,
how could that drop mean You?
Wednesday loves Thursday, it thinks....
In unthinking.
But one can never be
if the other is,
always their present moments
only cross at a midnight,
and then a second apart,
always a second apart,
never the same day.
Would another Thursday make you smile?
I once looked at you, twice, you
smiled, that smile that looks like love
and it was enough. I remember when
I used to get looked at like that.
Like someone loved me.
I can't ask, because I can't and I can't,
I'm not sure if that is what was in your green eyes,
those windows twisted by wind, I'm not sure
if that was your smile, only the happiness I felt
can I know, I can only know my
love and confusion.
Not my Valentine.
Penultimate Valentine.
I felt twice then alive, it's painful
to remember what its like,
to remember love and know
its not in your life.
It's like Wednesday loving Thursday
and that passing second of midnight.