To Be His


Photo Credit: BlueFish24 at

You are this figment,
this dream,
this memory.
I see you
and don’t see you.
I read your words,
hear your voice,

but the man in front of me,

I’m just not sure
you fit into the box
I’ve made for you,
the one I hammered
into place in my mind.

You are hard and aggressive,
smooth and open–
not like the manipulative screen
you used to yield.

there you are,
with that short shorn hair
and the darkness tracing
the corners of your eyes,
and the box is gone.

It is just you.

This man I thought I knew.
This man who holds me
between his fingers,

his voice how I remember.

And I remember
wanting to be his,
to belong to him
in every way,
and at this moment,
in between nervous laughter
and awkward silence,
I realize that is exactly
where I am.

I belong to him, finally.


It’s weird when you finally see and hear someone you haven’t seen or heard in a long time. Don’t fret, dear readers, I do not speak of my Johnny. He has disappeared and I’m trying to fill the space, as always. At least you should feel refreshed with some new themes in my poetry. Enjoy!

~ Patience


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