Poetry
Hey memorialist do you still love me?
Or you just writing about the moon?
You have to see the mist in the lights when the palm trees
Are standing alone
There is a mystery and romance in it
The fruit at the top is sweeter.
The red lipstick and porcelain skin
Shanghai dress of blue
And a tiny room with a balcony and view.
Mapping out an entire day just so I can lyrically
Run into you,
While the soundtrack hits crescendos in my
Chest,
And feel like I am really my best.
The writers all meet at the long bamboo
Table to write the best jokes.
The dialogue spread out on separate
Pieces of paper.
The ones that mistakingly overlap
Is the right romance.
It’s happenstance and chance,
Romance, you are the boat in stillness
the biographer-
Immovable in a placid Sense of it all.
Even though I have two rooms in different hotels,
I chose this, so the chroniclers creativity has two locations.
The passion has two vantage points,
One is with the writers and one,
Is where the protagonist and the antagonist
Collide as coauthors,
And shake everything up outside the tides
I keep playing that scene over and over again my mind
When we first met,
That scenario was textbook old movie
Languishing and longing
Almost scripted.
Francis A Willey
2022 January