I flew from L.A. to Tucson, where there’s less palms but more sand,
and a girl who (it’s been too long) still fits in the palm of your hand.
It took us two years, sweet thing, just to even find the place;
but when you’re not sure who you’re meeting, I guess that’s a kind of grace.
I never thought I’d find you in the places that I found you.
I missed being inside you; I missed being around you.
Come closer’s what I beckon; you pull closer, and I smirk.
There’s lots of things, I reckon, I’d try if I thought they’d work.
I’d wet your eyes forever like I’d run out of projects,
and I’ve memorized your letters just to quote out of context.
And I broke your wooden solitude and carved an elven head!
And what I said I couldn’t promise you, I promised myself instead.
But all those things we used to do, you said you never could again.
Well, that’s okay, we don’t have to, though we were pretty good at them.
There’s parts of me that are savage, but I don’t need you that way.
Just come as close as you can manage, and I will meet you halfway.
And If we’re lovers that don’t make love, then that doesn’t seem unfair.
But we must just generate love, since it must come from somewhere.
I’m a gremlin electrical, unicycling a line:
you’re a water elemental, your wire parallel to mine.
You zip something acrobatic; I try to keep balance and pace.
Wobbling, shrieking and ecstatic, I forget it’s not a race.
So if I brush you, and the sparks fly, that’s the most you owe to me.
There’s not much use in the dark sky, if we can’t read poetry.