Untitled
Sheyenne Manning
Being friends with you
is like returning to my
favorite holiday movie.
same story
same characters,
same scenes.
New again like your
voice smooth, still, past
the time that skins weather
and minds harden.
Like swirls of cold air
passing through my lungs,
you are my first breaths of the day.
Brand new.
Like a boy and
his old friend, we fetch
our enduring ways,
settle like pioneers
and sigh the sigh of old
trees braving their
last winters.
You’re a puzzle and
I’m that last piece,
recovered under a cushion
days, weeks, months
later are the nights we occupy phone
lines unrehearsed, we know them by
hearts unknown to us but akin to each
others misunderstand our minds marvelously
intertwined fingers, the object of dreams forgotten.
Icy land is our restraint,
I’ll return to you, your internal
brick edifice of which I see
but cannot feel.
Someday I’ll get lost,
wandering barefoot upon
the skin of the Earth and
I’ll find that home
with your name written on it.
I’ll curl up in the place with
my name and wait for your
return. I know you
always return.
