I just can’t
imagine anything else
I’d enjoy more
than sitting here
listening and waiting
for the first
sounds of you
stirring your cup
of kitchen coffee
and the first
taste of sugar
on your lips
as they’re pressed
sleepily against mine
Everything
What if
everything was
the last
would you
cherish it
treasure it
try to
hold on
to it
or would
you let
it go
because everything
is that
very last
of anything
Clean
I once thought
clean smelled well
clean but true
clean as well
as clarity and
truth smell not
at all whatsoever
what does smell
is the appearance
of something clean
for even truth
can hide behind
allures seductive mask
making it the
master of allusion
Cup
That empty cup
is gathering dust
I have no
heart to wash
where once it
was joy and
laughter filled it
now sits quietly
surrounded by others
a shrinking violet
it grows smaller
with each morning
and one day
be a thimble
capable of holding
no more than
a moment’s memory
Bus
At a bus
stop I sat
waiting no not
for the bus
but for you
for this was
the very place
where I first
laid eyes upon
for hours I
sat there and
those turning into
days and those
then into accepting
that it was
never about a
bus but being
there where you
would be when
HARLAN DIDRICKSON 