The John

In mornings we

among underwhelming streetsign crumble concrete, cast a longing gaze over the polluted rainbow sun as it blushes over the mountainpeaks, flickering over the valley with a vacant traffic buzz and moan while blue shadows gather over a distant lake, a dark spill over the neon sky.

And you're not here. I'm not exactly

holding my breath on this one he

makes you smile and I suppose that's good

enough or at least it has to be. For me.

When your hand bobbed behind your back

waiting for mine to come and close the

circuit I knew I had to withdraw, to think out

my strategy, because beside you strode

your big tall man who makes you

wanna have a million little babies

a wedding in the snow in your white dress

don't you know that I can't spend a whole life

just holding onto that hidden hand,

that piteous touch you cast over me

like a little lucky charm or a memento

a reminder, string around the finger

or a kiss just below the curve of your chin

making you squirm in that little secret hour

you'll probably never speak of again

and hey I guess i'm cheap that way.

I feel like i'm getting your love second hand

we don't talk the way we did because now you

have your big tall baby making man, whose

love I know perhaps a little better than him

is that selfish? I hope it is. I sometimes hope

i'll rot and die before I hear you say his name

again, but I know I won't – I'll just sit and take

it like you want me to. Cuz that's my place

that's my little dusty space on the shelf

in your heart. And if only for a moment

you would shine your eyes over it and

pour your heart out into my hands

but it's never all here when I need it

and that's why I never wanted you or

your snow marriage, or your million

baby army love, but wanted you.