A Willow’s Whisper

I’m sitting across from you in a coffee shop and Skinny Love is playing
and
it’s not
even
a metaphor.

Your eyes really are the color of honey. I love the way the crease in your forehead really says what you’re feeling, and the way you smile at me more than you do anything else. I love the way you give me space to feel, and space to talk, and space to come here and be in this place with you. It’s all I can do to keep my eyes on the page. My fingertips tremble. Poetry is always in your presence.

A poem settles down in the empty seat between us and I listen intently, losing focus in my vision and letting the twinkle lights across the street fade into so many blurs… a poem whispers like a weeping willow with a gentle breeze running through; it’s next to silent… but my ears are especially tuned.

It is not of the rain, or the smell of coffee, or the beautiful words of the song that the poem tells, but of the day this becomes our default state. I want to take you on a library date. I want to lay on the stain-resistant carpet between the rows and rows of books, with my head in your lap… it will be all I can do to keep my eyes on the page
and off
of you.

There’s a meadow somewhere named after the love we’re still learning how to speak, and the day we find it I think we’ll be eternal. Or maybe… we won’t even be surprised. I want to see something completely new for the very first time with you. I want to know every thought that graces your graceful mind. I want to give you all of my time. I want to take your hand, now, here, in the coffee shop, and I’m so full I’m overflowing
and
it’s not
even
a metaphor.

I’m half way over the fence
and trying hard not to look back
because on the other side of the table,
you’re sitting,
and we’re in a coffee shop
and on the other side of the fence
I’ve fallen
and
it’s not
even
a metaphor.

Ashley Wylde
May 6th, 2015

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