Monday, February 14, 2005

Time was, I set my heart out for the world
like a construction papered shoebox
with a hole cut out and waited.

Time was, I spent the day playing Romeo,
scribbling poems and ogling bouquets I never sent
because I'm supposed to be playing Mercutio.

Time was nothing to a hormone addled old soul
stuck in love with one wrong girl after another,
or maybe just the wrong guy, and

Time was, I could be derailed by a glance returned
or a phone call that wasn't, blurring the line
between love and indigestion.

Time wasn't an issue yesterday for me making soup
while you cleaned out the fridge, and I have never felt
more solid than watching you chop celery.

No comments: