Some kind of a joke,
to allow me to find love
half-way across the country.
His arms? His lips?
Give me a break. On Skype?
For years I waited for someone
until my room grew dark.
Any silk clothes
I shoved to the back
of my closet.
Maybe you’re getting
a kick out of this.
I’m tired of acceptance.
I want to press my skin
against his sweet breath,
not walk in the door
to a blinking message machine.
Did I say how his hair
is the color of spring
on wet pavement,
how his smile lifts me
like the song of a chorus?
I hope you’re enjoying this,
to see me hanging
from one side of the bed.