Open Mic at Art6 Gallery

Open Mic at Art6 Gallery

Wednesday, April 20, 2011

Dreaming About Her

It's a pointless endeavor
dreaming about her.
It's only making me feel
more alone than ever.

Maybe it's not her
that I want, but rather
something different than
the single suburbanites

who have nothing to
talk about except work
and weekend shopping trips
and prevouis bad dates.

They want it all
but the dreams are too simple
and they want the man
of their dreams the same way.

But her, oh her.
You can hear her smarts.
You can feel her emotions.
You can sense her sensualities.

I dream a lot about her,
probably too much.
But it's always the good ones
that a man never forgets.

But it's always the good ones
that are already spoken for
and so there I am,
pressed against the glass

watching inside and
wishing for something
that cannot be, caught in
a longing that some folks

would call a sin.  I guess
for now I'll be that sinner
until I can figure how to
turn around and walk away,

finding some sense of comfort
in my solitude until someone
else who can be available
and bless me with her presence.

6 comments:

Brian Miller said...

i hear you in this man...it sucks being alone but the option in the waiting is to settle for...ugh...glad i am not in the dating world any more...

Joann Nelander said...

Hang in there. Snap the rubber band about your wrist while you count on a future rich in togetherness. Nice one shot; you got me praying for you!

Dasuntoucha said...

...But it's always the good ones
that a man never forgets
...

...ain't this the truth...luckily there's no harm in dreaming :-) Good luck with your search.

Proverbs 27:19 said...

Such positive vulnerability in this poem, Vernon! Kudos.

Larie

Vinay said...

Oh, such a sadness in this post! The lines speak of your emotions, and the part of you missing her just stands out so much!

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Jannie Funster said...

It does seem often times the good ones are taken.

But just when it starts to rain, it pours -- beautiful single women will follow you around -- for they all love a poet's heart that needs only to be discovered. It shall come to pass.