A day such as this one
It’s been one of those, when the words don’t amount much to none and there’s this lack
Of a certain kind, time, space, energy you’ve once had to behold and now it’s on hold,
I’ve gotten used to thinking that when the minutes can’t add up just enough, I’d find home
In that way when you say I mean it, but even that doesn’t feel like it gets the point across
Like a photo in your phone, a ticket to a random number in your jacket they called—I know
Why some things happen, but for most part I don’t, and that’s how this thing I’m feeling fits in
To my day now, as the light escapes clouds and seconds, hours feel like they all blend apart; how
A proverbial rupture in the gut asks you to demand some attention and it feels like being in-love,
That’s the way I remember us, just walking amongst ourselves in the park, speaking out loud to the grass
In the moment one later, then the next it’s all becoming past all over again, now I’m sitting here,
To wonder the meaning of the word love and what it means to exist with this lingering definition,
How the exits to these memories paint these temporaneous, explicitly difficult and deficit days without us
Smelling the laundry and skin together is heavenly accent and bliss, the temperament of my indignant
Heart cellos the way craftful hands ween the harpsichord into atonal decadents, into subliminal penchants
Making love with the blankets beneath us and our clothes on, because it all seems to matter more that way
When two lost souls find a harmony, cadence, rhythm and groove with the avatars they’ve sought long before;
Even now, I’m here and there both with you and then not, just how is it…I’m so in love with you?
On a day like this one, the streets do not lie, they do not ease nor tame, sense, inflame my incense,
The licentious and carnal yet pure tranquility, inequity when it comes to believing I’m always home
When we’re at you house, oh but I’m not so far gone have I gone too much…now? Have I, said it all?
On a day such as this one, when that voice calls me out from underneath myself and all I got to show for
Are some paltry words, a table with a place and name I go sit to for a few hours until it’s time to go out
And make some changes with my body and facial expressions, changes in air pressure, the words in my mouth
Fall from absurdity to a playwright’s bill, from inventory to prayer, from my inner child onto your letters;
But I’d miss you, so I miss you, can I miss you, do I—shouldn’t I, won’t I, can I…miss you, like I’m doing so?
In that way, when you say things you don’t mean for other people to hear, but here I am, hearing them, here
Not so alone but in the company of ourselves making waves, repeats of sliced film onto my cognizance, so…
A vacation, getaway, trip to take someday is what I’ll say when these feelings just won’t go away or dissipate;
On a day like this one, when no one’s looking, do I go, wander, dare, dream, ask, intrigue, plead, pray aloud
Wondering about you and how I’m about to say all these things to nobody but the page onto itself, for now
It’s a stretch of entropic dissonance and symphony, for life is going to look like how it’s going to, I’ll suppose
That maybe in a way, I’m getting close to this feeling, by getting closer to myself or so…maybe I’m in love?
On a day like this one, on a day such as this one…how can I know?
But, I always will.
I have.
So…I do.
© 2023, A. M. D’Angelo
