They told me
I was meant for a life in the shade,
a seat by the clearest window, and that you
would just hang me up
to leave me high and dry.
They said
I was too young, far too
green for love, and that you
would just burn up
the seeds of my blossoming
potential.
They told me
I would always be turning toward
your chromium charm just to hear you whistle
after some porcelain model, and that you
were filled with far too much
hot air
for someone as
calm, cool, and collected
as me.
They told me
that you were nothing more
than a dream,
insubstantial as steam.
But I
know you,
I’ve seen you, and I
have a feeling deep
in my roots about you.
I have seen past
your shiny, stainless-steel armor,
and I have felt
your calm inner warmth.
I will let you make tea
and cool down with me
in peace
whenever you please.
If loving you
means getting steamy, bring on
the fire, I will leave this windowsill behind
in pursuit of desire. I’m accustomed
to weekly waterings, but with you, I’ll take
whatever you’re willing to give.
And I know
we live in different worlds,
and we’re both always
really busy,
but in my dreams,
when we face each other,
it is so bright that I
always
wake up feeling like
sunlight—so
maybe one day, you’ll
leave your fiery hot spot to come
join me by the window
and when the rosy glow of dawn
casts shadows behind us and
promise ahead, we will turn
to face each other in the light
of the new world, and my reflection
will be, always, you.
