This reminds me of how I read thee. I count every word as an invitation into your brain, what you think about and how you say it. It is as sexy as if you stood there saying it. You have me. I want you. I admire you.
They say women have a greater command of language. It isn’t fair. What you are is what is wanted. The storyteller keeps the children quiet, mesmerized, baited, and clinging. Let’s face it, life is nothing without beauty and truth, how affection can be so unwanted. “I hear you,” you say, “and it is not my intention. I don’t write to seduce you. I don’t even know you, but there you are, like an enemy unto myself. What did I do to deserve it?”
“There is a woman,” I tell you, “who for some reason got excited about a reading she ending up attending with me. I never wanted to be alone with her, but there we were. In London, Betty’s Coffee. I read three short poems. There were a slew of great contemporary English poets and musicians. The cafe was in Tiffany blue. We were both caught in the importance of it. Poetry open mics are powerful, especially if you write. Anyway, she said it changed her life, and it did. When you find someone, who speaks your language, you fall in love. I fall in love with you. Every word is how I imagine it. The kind of architecture of a house I want to live in, and I apologize for that. I wait for such love. In coded messages, we confuse players for colleagues. I know you don’t want me, but you get me. You pull me out of the darkness of myself and give hope, where I have no reason to involve you, since you are only dancing alone. Dancing for yourself, for your ideal. But, sometimes, we cannot choose who we attract. But, we can say ‘Thank you.’ I know I do, because this woman has done so much for me. I give her all the credit, which is not to say I have done anything but fawn.”
“I am afraid to read the next line of your poem. It is 5AM. I woke in a pool of sweat. My work shifts are all over the place. My brain is fluid. Anything can trigger it. So, I will just state for the record that you are grist for the mill. You are an inspiration. You are a nearly perfect rendition of words that I respect. I wish you were real. But, all of this is merely my reaction. You had no intention and I understand that.”
