one day i will have a lover
One day I will have a lover who I surprise with a train ride.
Who I wake up lovingly with their coffee and help them pick out their clothes in their sleepy haze and take on a train as the sky turns//wakes up//becomes alive (again).
One day I will have a lover they raise the bridge(s) for. They will wait in their cars as we pass through, on our smooth sailing boats. We’ll look at the underbelly of a bridge turned inside-out—going through the trouble for us.
One day I will have a lover. A good one who knows me. Who sees me. (Because) I will let them. And pulls all of my selves out slowly; inviting each part of me out like a snake charmer. Like a circus clown, each pallet of cloth full of color easing up and out of my throat and neither of us can stop giggling and admiring (all of) me.
One day I’ll have a lover. Who goes through the trouble like its warm sand between their toes. We will explore cities and wastelands by night. Walking in the street. Learning sleepytowns and quietly making trouble with our imaginations.
One day I’ll have a lover. Who loves red light on me. And does not trip over my raised roots. One day I’ll have a lover just my size. And speed. We’ll see entire dynasties passing from our moving train window. Passing then gone. We’ll know the dining car and each other’s hands.
I will have a lover.
Who settles in quietly and says my name. Says it enough that it feels both alien and home all at once. ‘Til we both return to dust. I will have a lover. And we will stay in houses when we travel. And we’ll jump into water warm or cold. And we’ll pack light and be well acquainted with morning and how warm the pitchblackness of night can be. We’ll reverse our afflictions with darkness by poring over it. Together. By rubbing on menthol salves and pulling tar from inside our chests and seeding through it for—what could possibly ever make this beautiful thing, despicable?
Be exhausted in/by love. I will find respite in your shelter cave of collarbone. Weary travelers of ancestors’ time doing the work of escaping (again).
We make time. And savor it, umami. And lose it. And get lost in it. And forgive.
Hurry. If you blink, you’ll miss it.
Will we ever run out of stories? I become afraid. If we do, we’ll trust each other and work backwards and sideways telling each others stories back to one another as we heard them the first time. How does that sound? To you?
One day I’ll have a lover.
When we move quickly we’ll stay in-tact, leaving no parts of ourselves/each other behind. We’ll know rivers and music. We’ll know each others’ voices like the sound of our mothers’ keys approaching the door. We’ll know each others’ voices like rivers. Tones washing over you and not missing even the places they always miss. I will have a lover who knows (me).
Is there a version where I am wrong? Where I surprise you with a train ride early before the day is ready and I sit us on the wrong side of the train and we miss (the view of) the water? Where I forget the coffee at home? Where we don’t both see the two birds timulting across water reflecting, disappearing into the ripples when our eyes trick us as we roll by on the track. Is that real too? Is love real? Are the houses on the hill real? Would this water be any less great if it were a lake made by men? If it had an old rusty tug boat sinking in it? Would you still be my lover (then)? If the water bordered a refinery that breathed fire and smoke all day and we were stuck on the side of the train with the destruction-of-man-view instead of the water? Would you get off at the next stop and go home? What if it was the wrong route altogether? And eventually, the man-made-view took up both sides? Would you still be my lover (then)? Cross the bridge when we get there. Would you get up and move your seat away (from mine)? Will I miss you when you go?
Will the tangle of time tug at us instead? Will we forget how fast we can go on a train? How we can ride through entire towns in moments. How we can still see the beauty of everything without holding too tightly.
It’s okay to blink. We will not miss it.