It Doesn't Work Like That

That floating afternoon

Wafts of air, perfumed with brown leaves and dreams

That keep running away from us.

Hopes and fears and hidden desires,

Insatiable longing and wanting to touch and kiss--

The hardness and softness of it all

Were hugging my soul, which wanted to be reassured,

Made feel special.

"You are special and unique, and today I think

That you're the most beautiful woman I've ever met."

I shouldn't compare myself to ghosts.

I'm real. I'm here. I'm now.

And none of those fifty women from the past

Have anything to do with me.

A tower moment for my identity

Built on being the only one.

In the end, I am the only one:

The protagonist.

All the things and people and philosophies,

And that one therapist who makes me question it all biweekly,

Orbit around my center, which burns with meaning.

A delirium of projections that lead back to step 1.

Let's start over, back to that night

When my arm lingered a bit too long

On your shoulder

After you told me that you made up a dance

Just for me.

It doesn't work like that, baby.

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