The poem sits on my bed
Labeled with the lovely swirl
Of the letters in your name
Like the majestic dips
And rises of an ageless mountain range
Written in the pink pen
That secretly took me decades to decide on

It lies
Locked within a perpetual drafting stage
Rafting on still water
Attempting to capture and collect
The uncatchable, invisible, untraceable
And express
An emotion with a magnitude
As large as the ever expanding
Universe

I fold it.
And with each crease
My fingers
Press with greater
Intensity
Reflecting
The heartbeat
Within my chest
Pistons within a 1950’s Ford

Tomorrow
I will actually slide it in your locker
Slip it in your lime binder
Hand it to your best friend
Tomorrow
I won’t shy away
Hide away
And sail away
From my jet stream of dreams
That leads
Towards the star
In the sky
Directing my stare

But
On the other hand
Tomorrow is Monday
And Tuesday sounds better
But Wednesday is romantic
And Thursday’s weather will be beautiful
And Friday, full of promise
Soon…
Very soon

The poem that lies
On a bed
Will be unfolded
Read
And released

And my hands will grip
The lasso I wrap around
Your heart
In hope that my arms
Won’t give out
Before the star
Blinds me
And its rays
Burn me