The poem I was going to write
Was going to be angry and bleeding and hurt
It was going to be full of passion, rejection
Full of the one who notices not the red ink dripping from his hands but the red ribbon in her hair

The poem I was going to write
was supposed to be inspired -
or perhaps inflicted would be a better word -
by him.
I was upset.

But someone made me laugh again
Trust again
One who notices not the words I say but the words I mean
And dreams with me of a future we both know is impossible
But he has made all the difference in my world.

So the poem I was going to write
is no more.
A shame, really.
I forgot my inspirational, impassioned anxiety
in favor of a poem about now
and a future I know is impossible
but that doesn’t stop me
from dreaming it…