I could wonder what it would be to share a kitchen with you. spoons and pots and plates, and pleats. brushing against you casually without a second thought (well alright, a few). to lounge on the sofa, book in hand, you reading yours or adrift in meditative intent across the room. or to awake, in bed, your face horizon’s light.
here’s why the moon adores the dawn, surrendering. maybe all is only one cup’s measure of truth. not this day the intimacy of soft familiar shoes, but yes, wanting
to be. yours, sincerely.
about this poem.
a love poem, simple enough. could use more words… however. if I were to describe a sense of moonlight, the fewer the words the more to be more honest, more accurate than ten pages of dissertation. like that. and me still wants, desires, a hunger toward simplicity. do you sense that appeal of immediacy?
and of process, it remains intent to mostly use what first arrives, not add much, not get clever much, to appreciate the simple brush of hair. get the idea? real simplicity in a poem can be a challenge to our willingness to leave a moment alone in peace. (amusing?)