Cara

-- Without love, what are we, really? --

My Final Crush

Sometimes
When I hear a song, or pass a funeral procession,
I think of you.
I imagine
what it's like
to instill the nuances of Twain
into your dark eyes,
between which
much pop music and teenage angst flows.
Why do you do it?
I always though you were more.

You and I, I think,
we'd have made a great scandal
as lovers.

we could have discusses the lyrics in Angel of Harlem
gone to Jayhawks concerts
lay around on Saturdays
as lovers do
eating cheerios and milk
wearing faded college sweatshirts
and thick, tortoiseshell glasses,
renaming all the colors
in the J. Crew catalog.

Alas, a lover only in imagination,
you gravitate to small town
and the lack of stoplights
makes me uneasy.

And so,
like all scandalous affairs,
I'd have left you brokenhearted
for the big city.

You'd have pined for me,
and lived life in hickville
alone
eating cheerios
analyzing U2
and thinking,
thinking,
thinking.

It would have been a fun love story.