It’s hard to believe when I’m with you

In between the stacks, you checked over your left and right shoulder before you leaned in to kiss me
I think we were in the PQs, near some modern Spanish authors. I am certain that we have kissed in between stacks of books more than any two other people have.
It is hard to believe when I’m with you that we are anything but harmonious-- not the same, but similarly composed—like two different octaves plucked from one set of strings.
It is easy for me to know how we are similar and to suppose and to trust that we are different.

I look at you, and I would rather feel myself present in your gaze than move forward in any way, into any progression of time
Your hand on my back propping me up as I sit across your lap is like the second hand of a clock gone still

How has anyone ever been able to wrench themselves from their lover’s arms in the morning?
In your bed I find myself lethargic, unwilling
Never able to arise myself, it is you who must reach over and turn off the alarm, or possibly set it to snooze if you’re feeling reckless
You always awake with a start and this bright vigor in your eyes, your eyes shine brighter and better in their waking moments, as if they were polished all night by small hands behind your eyeballs
Whose hands have been polishing your eyes as we slept? What tiny hands? Whose small hands?

Some part of me hopes that I will come home one day to find that you have let yourself into my apartment, spelled out the words “Will You Be My Fool” with really expensive, really beautiful and fresh sushi on my kitchen table, like how my best friend’s prom date asked her to prom with pancakes that said “Prom?” I thought that was so great and romantic.
Seeing the message, I will drop my bags on the floor, cup my hand to my mouth and pace my apartment, yelling your name, listening for your response that I slowly realize will not come how did he know, I’ll mouth to myself gosh, how did he know? I will not waste time calling you to comment on your little stunt, and to tell you that I will, yes, forever.

this is a re-write of a poem i wrote called ATTN: and i re-wrote is "as" Frank O'Hara. this was for a project in school.