i walk thru the streets and half expect
to find you
in among stranger faces
your own
small and strange
so pale
you glow in the dark
black eyes heavy
i half expect you to not recognize me
as i walk by
nearly a foot taller to you
in boots
or perhaps
you would stop and look at me
our gaze
a hunger in the air
in my dreams
i would produce from
the pockets
of my big coat
snow
for you
and one hundred
perfect poems
each written perfectly in red ink
poems of how i loved you
and love you still
of how i was wrong
and how i ache for you
in my dreams
you take each one
and read it
each perfect poem
and you know
everything you always should have known
but months have gone by
and you were not in the
same part of town
the same elevator
or the same street corner as i
and then
you are there
in the dark
glowing
you sneak up on me
i dig thru my coat for
snow
chest heavy with air and embarrassment
but from the big pockets
comes only
an odd array of used movie tickets
the perfect poems
each entitled to the dearest lady door
are all gone
except for one
half perfect
wannabe poem
you read it
i watch you
you smile and say i know
the gaze between us
is a hunger in the air
