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Floating in the water I spent all my time looking up and making out your face in all the different shapes between the white clouds and the blue space- my imagination brought us together like the pull of gravity from the sun and I danced around you like the planets 

spiraling and spinning until too dizzy



I fell. 


I want to brush you away

as if running my hands through lavender

and taking only what is given


your disruption has changed the scene


Are you paying attention

to the ripples in the water-

a reflection

of my mind

when you dipped your toes

and left, and

the ripples in the water

kept moving

changing the scene

like a distortion

and I can’t tell

what’s right, what’s


is there a difference?

I no longer believe that

we can go down to the pool

sit and dip without

changing everything- 

you and me are too deep 

for shallow touches

because even these

push out to the very edges


It makes no difference

I run out of words-

do you get the picture?

are you nervous?

I’m a romantic in the way Fitzgerald defines it.

(I'm not sentimental--I'm as romantic as you are. The idea, you know, is that the sentimental person thinks things will last--the romantic person has a desperate confidence that they won't.) 


The flashing phone signaled a wanting message urgent enough

that it couldn’t wait until next time it had to be

now but I couldn’t move or lift my gorilla lame arm

from off the couch- it was as if gravity rained down in buckets 

Missed Call

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