Back in the winter I wrote a poem about Matt. The other day I remembered it and decided to write two more. Here they are. More may be forthcoming.
Here Is What I Think of When I Think of You – Hannah
and snow under the streetlights
from your bedroom window
on New Year’s Eve.
Sharing books and nerdyisms.
Laughing on spring nights,
fields of dreams.
More time spent reading than talking.
You open my box
and set me loose upon the world,
you turn my dreams to jewels of colors
this planet does not know.
I think of other universes,
something not quite unfamiliar, but a little bit.
I think of swirls in black and white
and tinges of red
(it is you who is red, not I).
You are a deep and dazzling darkness
as Vaughan would say.
Eternity in your deep eyes.
Here Is What I Think of When I Think of You – Derek
yours and mine and anyone’s.
the kind that makes one happy.
I think of dancing for no reason at all
other than gleeful joy
and not knowing what else to do with your feet.
I think of summer sunsets over the desert,
standing at the top of one of our dusty Idahoan hills
and throwing one’s arms out
and yelling for pure happiness.
I think of blue.
I suppose it is true what they say, that the less you know someone the easier it is to visualize them.
Oh, sure, there are material things.
Like your constants texts about the latest cute girl you spotted,
or your biochemistry major,
or your awesome quirky ties,
but those seem to speak to me of you
as you are around the edges,
not as I know you.
Mostly I think of all the inexpressible love you are to me.
They will know you by your love, they say.
Here Is What I Think of When I Think of You – Matt – Original (also published in the 2013 Syringa)
a light, soft gray,
a heather of sorts.
Something about the vague roughness
of your hand.
I think a lot about skies –
and blue skies
and navy velvet skies
pinpricked with winter stars
tiny and precious
like every moment I’m with you.
I think about
shoving my hands in my pockets
and about not fitting in
and making you laugh,
hug me tighter,
and other sundry affectionate things.
Mostly I think about winter.
Winter and miracles and the especial joy of your smile.
Intense, but lovable;
that is you, I believe.