you are in love with a writer

there you are
eating your pecan pie in the local coffee shop.
the background music is some song by the beatles.
you don’t know which song it is but you know it’s by them.
they have hundreds of songs;
it’s so hard to tell which is which.
you don’t bother figuring it out.
you smile at the barista,
who has been eyeing you since you came in.
he’s very handsome:
young, and he has passionate eyes.
“Probably a musician,”
you think to yourself.
you don’t like musicians,
only writers.

half-way through your pie
the coffee shop door opens.

you are in love with a writer,
and there he is.
he walks to your table and he is all you see:
his shaggy brown hair
his pale skin hinting how he doesn’t leave the house much
his pretty green eyes covered by black rimmed glasses
his big smile
oh his beautiful big smile
and his scrawny built
wrapped in a blue plaid shirt he got from a vintage store
you can see yourself wearing that plaid shirt soon.

his presence blurs the entire coffee shop.
he shows you his writing and tells you
that you are his muse.
you are smitten by his deepness
the emotion in his prose
and his careful choice of words.
he whispers sweet nothings to your left ear
then kisses you.

you kiss him back and soon you forget.
you forget who you are
you forget that you have a huge test tomorrow.
all you know is
his smartness
his deep thoughts, put into writing
his eloquent poems
and that you are his muse

you are who he writes about,
and that is who you are

you are in love with a writer, but he abandons you in the local coffee shop.
you look down on your plate

he has eaten all that is left of your pie

Labels: i wrote a poem