Coyote Crossing

A sweet little wistful nostalgic love poem

I wish that I had never met
the one who set my heart aflame.
All the decisions I regret
I made after I learned her name,
excepting those I’d made before.
I used to long to hear her voice.
I never do that anymore,
which seems to be the wiser choice.
I wish that I had never found
myself enmired in talking late.
I wish I’d been more tightly wound,
my basal metabolic rate
less prone to fluctuation when
her silence took that certain tone
and I would tread eggshells again,
dallying desperately alone.
I wish I had avoided all
our shoulder-hollow-knotting trysts
that etched away my stomach’s wall
and made me want to slash my wrists.
I wish that I had been the one
to call it ended, when it seemed
her fantasy had come undone
and I was not the man she’d dreamed.
But I was me, for ill or good.
I rode it out until the end,
when finally I understood
what failed in love would fail as friends.
I wish I never knew her, yet
there isn’t much real there to mourn;
trivial pleasures I forget,
the chaff blown off of last year’s corn.

Comments

Wonderful, Chris.

Nobody does sweet little wistful nostalgic love poems (that bite) like you.

Thanks, y’all.

Full disclosure: I just tweaked it slightly. Probably not noticeable, but, you know. Full disclosure.

The parentheses around the “You know what? I have other friends” line? Not that it was a game of find the difference. But I can’t help myself.

Nope! The line about silence used to be a line about sighs.

After having a dazzling pair of beautiful and concerned brown eyes bat at me here at home, it has occurred to me to mention that this poem in no way describes current events.

Aw.

Should “trod” be “tread”?
Not wanting to be a smartarse - I could never write like that myself! Awesome.

Should “trod” be “tread”?

Well hell, that’s embarrassing.

This is very poignant and absolutely gorgeous. It’s also eerily similar to a recent situation of my own, so perhaps I am somewhat biased due to the subject matter. At any rate—fantastic work.

Page 1 of 1 pages

Leave a comment