If He Knew

I can't help myself

I've done it again.

I've met a boy

Who melts me when

He touches my arm

Just above the elbow,

And kisses my lips with strength

And humor. And so

I am weak with desire

And strong with hope,

And all I can do

Is try to cope

With the time

Between the times

I spend with him.

Writing rhymes

And drinking wine

On my own,

Imagining he's mine.

If he knew

I was writing this

I'd die. I'd have to

Pretend to miss

His call.

(Not that he'd

Call, if he knew I was

Writing

This.)

(Los Angeles, March 2009)