9 california love (2016)

HOLD UP, you think to yourself as you are browsing through dewdropper bopper. I keep track of this. Where is #8 for 2016?

Sad (or ecstatic) to say, that 8 is STILL IN PROGRESS! I’ve been writing it over the past couple of weeks. I have this vision and I’m working on it. The point of this 100 poems a year has been to plug out poems and maybe find some nice phrases and ideas, here and there, but I do feel like my #8 really has some potential. So, in an attempt not to delay my postings, I am posting 9 ahead of 8, and I might end up posting a few more before it, but I hope it will be worth the wait. Without further ado, here is #9 california love.

I sometimes still dream about you
it feels so good to say your name
Your name radiates my body and tickles my neck hair
But even my dream-self is heavy with an underlying grief
and I miss you and I miss you and i miss you

I don’t know what to say when I wake up
Sweat glazing my body like a fired ceramic statue
I turn around and know the familiar surroundings won’t help
I am desperate for some semblance of closure

I fall back asleep and say I’m sorry
You smile and you mouth, for what? silly.

I can’t hear you, but I watch as you gently turn away
Fading into a snapshot of how I last saw you:
Eager, enlightened, and smiling


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