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poetry
Restlessness

“Restlessness” - 5/2/20

I like to think I am a Russian novel and your fingers
Are committing readily to turning each page
Not because you are willing to imagine the ending
Will be the fantasy you’ve held in your mind’s eye but
Because we’re gripping each other genuinely intrigued

Anticipation only goes so far and expectations’
Fulfillment is a lonely soulless comet shooting across
Future’s navy expanse outer space’s ambiance
Won’t yield much in the end but if bindings can bend
Without breaking wishing becomes more than merely

Dreaming history forges itself unwittingly in the creases
Of dog-ears being folded down daily even if pauses
Abound time’s no object subjects become soldiers
Fighting urges to skip to scenes where every situation’s
Peaceful, amenable, exactly as it should be in theory

Can we commit to these unravelling mysteries without
Wildebeest apparitions outrunning juggernauts of joy
What semblances of patience must adoration employ
To convince each dawning’s thumbprint to simply be
Authentic letting oils of individual isms materialize

Forgetting the need to catalog our words
Or fetishize affection’s occasional capsizing
Can just be exactly what it must the chapter of our story
When love discovered what it meant to swear off
Self-protection stripping down dauntless to shimmering stillness