Saturday, April 10, 2010

my own box

blue asphalt at dusk,
white flowers blooming
across the street,
discussing film in the
garage and feminist
theory in the kitchen.
bell bottoms and velvet,
coffee-needing eyelids
and wine-searching lips.
and her hips.
jagged and daring, incidentally
baring; unhooked.
maybe there will never be
enough time and maybe we
are old enough now.
waking up everyday and putting
myself into my own box.
big ideas like new years
resolutions, brilliant and
positive and impossible and
so dreamy, so empowering, so
utterly dripping with something
there, something that's just there.
euphoric lenses of a one saturday night
we think we'll always remember,
always getting lost, always lost and
indistinguishable from the next.
your best friend gives you a wink
and a laugh, it's a beautiful memory
always getting lost, but not void of
and what does it mean when
uncanny coincidences don't
turn out to determine a
remarkable fate?

1 comment:

Carrie said...

A line form this poem serioulsy descibres how I feel about me and my life right now: "waking up everyday and putting
myself into my own box."