Sure, this love is not a deep-rooted tree

Stood firm against any testing breeze.

And I can’t even tell for sure if you really like me or not

I  just have snap-shots

Of when you’ve thought that you do.

In private my mouth creases up and my hands fly to my face:

I shake with excitement to imagine you in this place,

A hand resting absently on your thigh,

And the view of the tele through your hair,

As we lie.

The time you entered my room wearing nothing but a towel,

Cotton white against your brown skin

The stirring I felt within

The thought of what could unravel …

…when I took leave of your mouth,

I saw it in a flash: the kids, the wedding, the house.

Your eyes a sheer impossibility,

Like the perfect free-hand circle,

Pearls of pure mahogany.

And I shrug off the serious doubts, the pertinent uncertainties,

The miles and miles between us, the slight absurdity,

The rebound theory, your sheer vulnerability,

I shrug it all off.

I lay my head on the track.

I handpick the positive moments from our chequered, brief history

And ignore the ones that lack.

I lie and gorge myself on the thought of you,

I stuff my face into it, fill my nose and my eyes with it,

I devour you,

And strain you through every pore…

This is not a deep-rooted love,

But it’s what I’m rooting for.