1. 20:20 24th Aug 2010

    Tags: my poetry

    can this be our profile picture?

    i’ve made pictures of us but they’re not real. they’re tangible, here, in my hands, a little damp, because i get nervous easily, but visible none the less: i’ve taken care to draw the lines with a ruler, to shade the angles, to shape and soften your lips so they look like they do when i imagine them dragging down my shoulder blades. i love them. i hide them around my room so when i’m having a bad day i can find them and smile and think there’s a shred of hope, there’s a piece of the future waiting to peek out from behind a sunflower petal growing next to the front porch. but they’re not real. you’re not real, lover, but i think if i draw you enough times i’ll recognize you when you’re walking down the street or standing in line or making love to someone else in the apartment across from mine, windows open, unabashed. i’ll leave you the pictures slyly, wait around the corner, watch your reaction: your face, quizzical at first, then, recognizing me (the girl you’ve been waiting for), a slow smile, then teeth, then your eyes rise and your arms spread and we’re in the center of the sunflower, the future all around us.