by Lyn Lifshin
Grey moves in deeper.
Up half the night, I
couldn’t believe I’d
lost the envelope,
letters, scrawled
messages, sliver of
his blue sweatshirt,
less blue than his eyes.
Gone, the strangeness,
not being who I was.
It’s not the man who
says, indelible, my
lean panther hard
thighs around his
body, not the ex who
hardly wrote me
one letter, not the one
who loved Bardot and
Joplin and J Dean but
the one whose stories
on midnight radio air
were with me when
he wasn’t, too often
canceling at the last.
too depressed or drunk
maybe. But when he was
there, he was like no
other with his grin
and those lake blue eyes.
Oh where is Willie
Nelson with his "I’ll
never get over those
blue eyes"
*Lyn's website: http://www.lynlifshin.com/books.htm
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