It went a different direction, maybe because I was out of town and writing from the other coast.
----
(Now I've changed up the rhythm,
as I dream of life with him,
and my sonnets have shifted to some sort of song.
But a change isn't harmful,
though it might be alarm-ful
that I'm playing with rhythm and rhyme for so long.)
Today is a Saturday,
a day for a market
of farmers and lovers and dreamers and me.
But I'm far away,
in California(y)
and I won't see my beau, the boy from the barn.
He is selling tomatoes
and celery and carrots,
and I'm far away by an ocean out west.
A continent parts us,
a landmass gi-normous.
I wish I were back home, a reluctant guest.
And I wish I could see him,
if only while shopping,
for he's become a new anchor, a mark in my week.
For the contact is grounding,
his existence astounding,
and he offers me something that I seem to seek.
And his smile is alluring,
and his arms are like willows,
and his hair is as dark as the nightfall at sea,
And I surely do miss him.
What I'd give for to kiss him,
And take him to live with me for eternity.
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