*

Story-books (I should move on)

by Scott Kurtz

There was a time, before the start,
Before the dying of the heart,
Before the soot and grime and asking why;
It was the meteoric rise and fall of you and I.
Which leads me to some overwhelming questions
(And I do not take them lightly):
Who are we? And who am I?

(And who are you to answer so politely?)

We have long-since made our visit;
Tags sticking out at odd angles from my collar,
And you (as always) exquisite.

Tell me, when will we have our stay?
Today? So we may put our things away;
Have coffee in the diner,
Make love on the recliner,
And I will follow as I'm lead, left and right
And into bed, and wrap my arms around your stomach, tight,
Turn out the lamp, and whisper a good-night
And sweet-dreamings in your ear?

Who am I to fear it?
And who are you to steer so near it
And then swerving out of view?

I always never thought I'd never always be with you.

Still, some hope is there: the softness of your hair
(The scent of it remains to keep me wondering.)
Memories wax and memories wane,
While I just sit here, writing story-books.

I should move on . . .
(but it's much harder than it looks.)