Hyper
Don’t you wish,
don’t you wish there was
someone real special
whose side you’ll rush to
anytime she wished so;
whom you’d scoop up in your arms
embracing her from behind
just as she’s pouring the coffee
everyday after work?
whose eyes you would gaze into,
in bed,
whose beauty you would admire everyday
sitting back and stroking the side of your mouth
with your index finger as she sashays in a new dress,
whose earrings and lingerie you would help wear,
whom you’d spring surprises on
and comfort, if they gave her a shock
whose petty whims you would fulfil,
whose superstitions you would heed,
whose forehead you would massage when ill,
whom you’d save from a million disasters
strung one after the another
the sight of whose sprightly smile
was all you asked from God whenever it was
that you felt like asking;
at whose feet you’d spend cold winter evenings
whom you’d clasp to your bosom
and on whose person you’d plant a thousand kisses
and make mad, wild, passionate love to
whom you’d go to Paris with
and whose indignant pinches you’d receive gladly
for letting your eyes wander too often;
every contour of whose body you’d commit to memory
whose sneeze, pout, indifferent smile, absolute wonder
anger, sadness, lust, passion, compassion
the look on whose face while settling into sleep
whose adorable habit of asking
for a towel while in the shower
the warm feeling of whose person you’d gratefully hug
while jolting awake from a nightmare at 4 AM
and the details you’d package in oblivion-proofed
material, a time capsule squeezed tight
in between two folds of your brain,
indestructible memories
out of voluntary action’s probing arms
till death do you both apart?
No? well, I do.
