If I Can

She is my cul de sac and my one-way street.
We are humming melodies from a honeymoon suite.
I am her tight sweater. I am her hemline.
Her laundry gets messed up with mine.

She is the bright photo in my dark wallet.
She perks me up and she will not stop it.
She’s my candle in the night and covers me
with the heavy lightness of a lover’s touch.

She is my pico de gallo and my cilantro.
She is the meat and the heat in my taco.
A weekend and a lifetime south of the border
I lie in her sun, in her shade, on her beach.

We met in the dayest of daylights.
We stuck it out through some winters.
She fixed me and I showed her the sights.
My breath goes dim when she enters.
It’s a joke, a party, and neverending;
a romance, a play, without pretending.

I will roll her in a tortilla and kiss her.
I am done with running and missing her.
There is no falling in following her.
She makes me a Yeats and a Longfellow.

Hush now, everyone, cover your faces.
I am going to erase what I have written
and start over trying to be just honest
to do her justice if I can.


About mrsorenson

NOT my president
This entry was posted in love, poem, poetry and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

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