Closeted Poem to Me

With my hair plastered on my face, and the cool of the shower dripping down my legs; I can see the horizon washed just behind the clouds. Paint me a picture, one with the oddest of things; perhaps a great bird sitting there on those swings.

 

Oh sing me a song that grows the whitest flowers, and then cover them in color so perfection goes sour. How delightful it is to hear your complaints, oh we’re living, we’re living I wonder how much longer?

 

Don’t question time you old crazed fool. Come sit here with me and I’ll deal out the cards. Stand still, just right there, the light is casting a perfect silhouette. Down your hair, past your shoulders so broad and so lean. Hands clasped in a shape I can’t quite see.

 

I know your face is there, but the sun blocks my view, golden and pink, oh tell me your name. Not the one you were given, but the one that is you. The one I know you gave yourself when you knew you were you.