If you wake to find me gone...
I never had patience for poetry but tonight I made this. The first line is a cliche, but oh well.
Don't think I didn't enjoy it.
That I didn't enjoy all that you are.
And want for you all that *will* arrive.
But I've always ghosted the party.
My comings and goings are the least of things.
I send me away, so that I may return.
I don't claim to understand.
And who needs to understand everything?
I like to be warm. In the room with you.
And then I like to feel the cold night, and her stars.
I was hurt that the critics disliked Thomas Kincaid.
"Trite rubbish," they declared.
But why are warm golden windows in a cold night rubbish?
They are always a good thing.
Even if they hurt.
Your song is a good thing.
For the unfolding of you I will avert my eyes.
I would not breathe! if it would disturb...
I will open the door softly.
I will close the door softly.
I do not have a smell, but I wish I did.
That could be my lingering name!