I’m a daydream believer,
and a homecoming Queen,
packed up in the same box,
with lots of other tropes and troubles,
waiting to be unwrapped,
by hands that seek me,
and know how to heal me.
If I may be so bold as to ask,
do you feel me?
Do you need me?
Could I be the puzzle piece that aludes you?
Late night zoom quiz answer,
on the tip of your tongue,
as midnight meets you,
and you begin to consider bed,
alone,
again,
and how unsatisfying fresh sheets seem,
when there’s nobody to share them with.
Am I the missing line of an ancient recipe?
Scrubbed from the scrolls,
but still readable,
when you close your eyes,
in that endlessly empty bed,
and think about what you really,
really,
really want?
Is it me?
Could it be?
I hope so.
I won’t be much trouble,
(she lied),
in fact,
you might find me quite convenient,
quite quiet when you require,
but deafening when you demand.
