right into your conversation, hear
my name on your lips like you meant it.
What with the sun rising and burning
the mist from the hillsides and ravines
and the larger view from your window
coming into sharp focus: a scrap
of sky within the pattern of lace
curtains and sycamore leaves. Just think
of me as the missing piece to your
jigsaw puzzle, the cream in your coffee,
the pair of socks for your shoes. I wanted
to fit, snug and secure, and remain
absolutely still and listen for
the mockingbird calling from the rooftop,
the pin dropping on the floor, your breath
on my forehead. I wanted to fit
into your bed and watch you sleep, or,
failing that, to hover above you like
a mosquito, and whisper, whisper in both
your ears, though most of all I would like
to fit your definition of someone you’d
love to have around, asking for more.
