your feet

When I cannot look at your face
I look at your feet.
Your feet of arched bone,
your hard little feet.
I know that they support you,
and that your sweet weight
rises upon them.
Your waist and your breasts,
the doubled purple
of your nipples,
the sockets of your eyes
that have just flown away,
your wide fruit mouth,
your red tresses,
my little tower.
But I love your feet
only because they walked
upon the earth and upon
the wind and upon the waters,
until they found me.

-Pablo Neruda

poem for a girl who will never read this

did you ever cross paths
with a person whose graceful cadence
simply left you
floored?

maybe?
sadly my friend, that means no.
you would remember it
trust me**

in my case
{in this case}
it was in her speech
and in her smile,
both coy and exuberant
somehow {yes, i don’t know how.}

and effortless confidence
of the type
that isn’t cocky.
and kindness
of the type
that doesn’t feel like pity.

and it all conspired
to lull me into something
akin to trance.

come back now please
{i barely
got to know you}

and i would very much like
to make
your acquaintance
again.

thank god i’m not censored

today is perfect
does that make sense?
that one day could be more perfect than another?
{i know, i know – there is no such thing as more perfect}
yesterday was perfect too
though if you’d asked
with that pitying look in your eye
i would have told you that the sky was too hot
my eyes were too itchy
time was running far too slow.
but none of that
is anything more
than that… you know?
and today really is perfect
and i’m just happy
that i thought
to notice it