Where The Cat Runs Off To

Distortion

Sometimes when you’re still asleep in the early morning,

I gaze at you.

Your nose in the air, your lips just barely parted,

your hair askew and lopsided–

a houseplant searching for the first rays of sun.

There are no rays yet.

Only the dim glow emanating from the frosted horizon.

With the world still asleep,

the birds just awakening,

I wish.

I wish the furrow in your brow

could always be this far from you.

I imagine this five minutes lasts eternity.

I lay my head on your chest,

and I listen.

I listen to your beating heart, a sturdy ship on steady waves.

And these were the moments

before the wreck.

Before I realized our compasses did not align.

For I thought

you deserved everything you could ever want or need,

and you,

oh sweet naive boy you are…

you thought my name alone could fill the list.

Despite the notion that you are a logical man, and I, a feeling woman,

you still think The Beatles were right.

And I know better

than to take advice

from handsome boys in bands.

Ink

Missing you is a fulltime job.

The way I live my life

will surely be my best verse,

and being loved by you

was the one happy stroke of my pen.

I waste my ink.

I waste my ink

on margin doodles

of trees I have never seen

and flowers that don’t exist,

and I am so sorry that you love me.

Why do you only exist now

in beach rocks and restaurant receipts?

I waste my ink.

I waste my ink

wondering why

I am the same

as I have always been.

Skittish

She is a stray cat

used to living in boxes

and sheds

and gutters.

You tried to let her live

on a sofa

a pillow

a mattress.

And she wanted to.

She really did.

But all she knew was pavement.

And even leaving you,

she took a sock

and made every other bed

with the memory of your love.

Because she wanted to.

She really did.

I really did.