Moonlight Sonata—Chelsey Shannon

February post.

Moonlight Sonata

Hold me close, love, in the coffee shop,
table lifting up mug
of black coffee twice drunk
slurped between your lips
which i haven't kissed
in, perhaps, so long.
Dump the cream in and stir it
with your knife.
Make it light as your skin,
shade darker than mine,
reach across the table
which separates our stares
to eat my pickle spear,
crunchy and briny,
slightly sweet.

Kiss me with sweet smoky breath.
I'll inhale your exhale,
let it slide deep into my lungs,
the only second-hand smoke
i'll willingly swallow—
let it settle into my respiratory tissue. Let it
absorb into my blood stream,
so maybe
a tiny fragment
of you
will run through my veins.

I'm no real poet, but at night before i sleep,
my mind invents its own dreams
and you're never far,
so-far-from-me love.

But i could be
all that you want me to be.
What do you want me to be?
For like that unfortunate neglected dog i sit
waiting for the touch of my master's hand,
longing
for the essential food only you can provide.
I wait by your door with baleful eyes.
Do you see me?

I know you do. I know it's been done.
But like the doleful, delusional dog,
i wait for something more.

Love…
i'm writing this by the moonlight.
I think of you by the moonlight.
My script is messier than usual.
I'll go to sleep now.
Maybe this won't sound so true in the morning
when the forgiving lunar glow has gone,
replaced
by the harsh, prying light of the sun.
I think i'll go to sleep now
and try to stop thinking of you.

(Love poetry…for losers.
Throw this away.)