Everytime You Drive Home I Think of the Color of Your Skin

Everytime you arrive I’ve been thinking of your smile

And everytime you arrive I’ve been thinking of your eyes and how you smell the feeling of your arms around me about conversations on Cy Twombly and The Frye and The Broad and basements of museums and churches and what it was like what happened and what it’s like now and talking about our fathers and our mothers and what we each hope for and of course your eyes again I think of your eyes and your many smiles and faces and your strong shoulders and the way I feel found and seen by you and I think of connection and communion and conversation and coming and your comfortable touch when you’re arriving and I am thinking of you

And everytime you drive home I think of the color of your skin and the condition of your car its brake lights and whether they function

And I await your message that you are safely home

*Thank you to the editors of Ambrosia Zine, in whose LOVE edition this poem first appeared. You all rock!