Poems: Perfectback to poem listing
The right side is depressed, no longer scrunched up
no longer wrinkled constantly, no longer is it corrupt.
The side you used to sleep on is no longer used by you,
in fact it's used by no one since you left it late last June.
The seat you sat in long ago across the dinner spot
is no longer used, no thanks to you, since you just up and got.
You left me and there is no one to replace where you were.
But I'll sit here and eat alone, just dreaming of her.
The perfect woman'd never leave, she'd always stay to talk,
and if I wanted to go out she'd hop up for a walk.
She'd whisper tiny things to me as if she couldn't speak
them out loud but not for fear of what others might think.
She would talk and talk and talk and talk and not care who could hear.
She'd listen to every word I said even if I talked for a year.
She'd read out loud without a care for all the world to know
that she in fact read Watterson and laughed at every joke.
I'd laugh with her knowing that she's having a great time,
and with her discuss complex math just to explore her mind.
I'd sing and dance and play along because I don't care one bit,
and purposefully lose all the games so she wouldn't just quit.
We'd know and trust and love each other above all other folk.
We'd laugh and play and best of all we'd both know how to joke.
And when we're sad we'll each do our best to relieve us of the blues.
But worst of all I know that that perfect woman......is you. |
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