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This isn't poetry, it's rambling
with eloquent words that don't fit,
like the little girl in front
of the dressing room mirror,
trying on her grandmother's clothes
with shoes too big, and lipstick nothing but
a red smear across her face,
and a huge fedora and a big purple hat,
and she's content with it, and
so am I, if this gets my point across.

I don't care if you'll never make sense
of this, or anything that I ever do,
because these things aren't meant to be analyzed;
you're right, but please ...
don't go back on your words and
the things you mean but don't say, and
the things you say but don't mean.

Before this light in this life
is blown out, and the candle fades
and becomes a clump of wax and ashes,
deformed and molded into the cracks
of the mahogany table, that's varnished
and shines with a ethereal light,
let's remember that sometimes, we don't
want to see the candle hit the bottom
of the table, because if we did,
we'd go up in flames

and it makes me think of the way
that the sun hits your face, when
we are walking together and the breeze
lifts up our spirits
and flies away, and ... I almost feel free;
not constrained anymore by these earthly means.
You're standing on the sidewalk, and I'm
working my shoe on the edge of the curb-
I might as well bite it;
this could be over for all we know.

It hurts to not just reach out and
hold you 'til the sun don't shine anymore,
and we're just two frozen statues standing
on the side of the road,
but I'm afraid sometimes, that if I squeeze you
too tightly, for too long-if at all
I'm scared you'll break or run away,
and I can't determine which is worse,
to lose you, or to destroy you.

This is holding sand in my fist- loving you is,
because it slips between my fingers
and I can't try to catch it,
the more my other hand reaches out,
the more sand falls down and
disintegrates into ash,
and if I close my hand too tightly,
it-you'll- run away
and playing this game with you,
is like trying to solve a Rubik’s cube,
for every move I make
that builds up something new,
you always come up and brighten my day,
and tear down another wall.

This is fact, not fiction.