If not for always

I sit at my desk.
It’s a common, if
not good,
way to begin a poem;
sitting at my desk,
wanting to resolute words
in such a way
that she will drop
her preconceptions of me
and shape herself
in such a way
around who I am to become
for her;
if not for always,
then just right now.
That would be enough,
sitting at my desk,
as I hold a bag of ice
over the pain in my groin.
An injury lasts a long time.
Words, as we wish them to,
last longer, maybe forever.
Or if not for always,
then just right now,
as she finishes
and considers going back
to descend my desires for her
the desires she must fill in
with her own,
as I am so far away
and the words I want to find
are only hers.

written on 08/03/2017 by: Matt Kane