I Think Of You Every Day

It took only his few words in sight,
tied together on specks of dust,
sent to me on the back of July’s
thick breeze.

I stood as openly as my chest would allow,
reading his words from the hot pavement,
soaking in a fresh idea, feeling
his tone
settle deep in my ribs.

It is not an uncomfortable place for him,
for me,
unlike the others. He is a choice.
I gather his aromatic movement
like a lilac wedding bouquet and plant
his image between my special vessels
and skilled capillaries.

At first, years ago, when I kept my eyes
and cheeks naked, it
was not a choice. His parasitic words glued
themselvesΒ to my eager young ears, prepared to host.
Now though, his silvery voice is
passion fruit,
a red sweet juice that saturates me,
and it took only his few words sprawled
in the hot July pavement,

“I think of you every day.”

28 thoughts on “I Think Of You Every Day

  1. For me, I can’t decide if this is a love poem or something more sinister. You have the sensual stickiness of the passionfruit and the free will of the present day “choice”… but their is something troubling lurking just out of shot, hinted to me by the “parasitic words” and the lack of choice in the past.
    I am intrigued by this one Maggie – it’s wonderful and I’m still trying to suss it out… πŸ˜‰

  2. somehow, I feel deeply related to this. I find myself reliving the past and the bittersweet memories, the ache. Maggie, thanks for sharing this!

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