upright and gentle
suggest you are growing
and i'm needing a new hobby.
it sways in a forward direction
leaving me behind wishing i could just
dance along with it, not knowing
when to stop, curve and bend like
a delightful comma, question marks suggesting
do you love me? what town are we in?
better yet, i want those parenthesis
(you and me) a juxtaposition,
a shield, a secret, a warm place for hands
inside your jacket while you praise my womanly curves
between pauses, for breath, for emphasis
for allowing yourself to reflect before you keep going
i'm thinking of your perfect hands writing the things you know
allowing you to let go and it scares me to think i'm not the ink that fuels your pen
the words in your head, asleep in your bed i'm not
can i be on another page (soft, sacred, secretive)?
i crave ellipses, not the single dot that imposes end.
(Nice to see you're still writing, Tara. -Marty)
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