Saturday, August 16, 2003

The things you learn

Before I was with you
I didn't know
could never have known
the sight of you
pajama pants and cowlicked hair
standing under the carport
smoking your cigarette
and telling me small stories
that to you are mundane
but to me are
something to add to this
collection of images
that you foster in me
that I carry around
like an insanely proud
street peddlar of jewelry that
everyone else believes to be
costume but is actually
worth more than
all the material things
either one of us could ever
accumulate in this lifetime

But your stories are only
some tiny beginning
that starts somewhere near
those brown eyes
and has something to do
with all of the following;
your stolen hotel towels
and two-tone truck
the way you think
to take care of me
in teeny tiny ways that you
would never recognize
as taking care of me
the way you enjoy small things
and seem too aware
to take any of it
for granted.