pokerface

the drive to your house

is as familiar as

the smell of dog’s paws.

I drive it, mindlessly-

natural as making coffee

or my signature

or

nightfall.

the man in the moon

is looking down on me tonight

his face never changing,

wondering what I am thinking

but he,

my dearest confidante,

should know:

you.

the trees, the stars,

the clouds

all fall into place,

words in my song; lyrics I sing to you

and I try

desperately

not to think about how

long it’s been since I’ve tasted your breath

how far away you seem when

you’re staring back at me

or how much distance can lie

in a pregnant pause.

we move,

all at once so

gracefully & awkwardly as

we learn and relearn this

waltz our

souls

constantly rechoreograph.

I feel less than forsaken

by my inability to

make you smile when

I need it the most

and the moon reminds me

that

star-crossed lovers

wouldn’t necessarily be so

absent the struggle.