It’s been decided.
I’m un-invited to the possibility.
You won’t give chase to the chance that
this could be something worth talking about.
Worth fighting about.
Because it has to be perfect, and smooth, and expected.
That’s where the opportunity over-ripens
and is smooshed beyond usability.
Compost is the option.
Compost you and me.
Written Monday, November 5th, 2012 @ Flowers, U District, Seattle, WA.
I had a dream
You were in it;
I was there.
We were together
by an open window –
the stars were out
in your eyes.
The smell of bougainvillea
on our noses;
you said I could
lay my head on your shoulder,
“I don’t want to fall in love.”