An Inexplicable Urge to Dance
I dreamt of you so often, Love, and each time I saw your face, I tried to tell you I love you but no words came out. And when I woke I tried again and again, I love you. I love you, but the words sat quietly on the window sill, as if they were merely considering the weather, as if I love you were a change of cloudiness or rain, as if I might carry an umbrella in order to love you, or wear a rain hat, a scarf, or goulashes. Or a light coat. Yes, a light blue I love you coat, hanging loose from my freckled shoulders, unbuttoned to the wind, the cruel wind of I love you as I wandered the streets below your apartment with the words, I love you, blowing through my mind, scattering my thoughts like all those unsent love notes I composed on sleepless nights before I saw you again leaving Joe's Pizza Parlor at dusk, and you smiled and turned, and I opened my mouth to say, I love you, and the words were right there on the tip of my tongue, but when I looked at you and saw you, all at once you were not the you I loved. How can I explain it? How love suddenly detached from your skin. And mine. And the bliss I felt then, and the relief. I was overwhelmed with an inexplicable urge to dance.