to return

to return at day's end to

one that isn't me

one to be quiet with
I'm weary of talking 
I have questions & 

I want to hear your answers
talk, so I can enjoy the sound of your thoughts
to take a quiet walk
just hold my hand--tight
can you know what I'd like
without me saying so

I mean--

opening a window

bringing a glass of water

changing the record 

to the one I was hoping for

sitting close
or far
& being pulled closer

I don't remember the color of your eyes, mine are blue.

When standing 

does your gaze turn down or does it perch above horizon--neck/chin angle acute or obtuse?

On a walk 

do you watch your feet or look at houses passed--miss the surroundings or trip for yer unwatched saunter? 

Are you 

inside or out?

Are your thoughts louder than sounds of the street? 

When thinking

is your brow furrowed or lifted to crinkled forehead--eyes squint to near close or sockets open wide?

Are you 

pressing your lips or rubbing the back of yer head?

Is it 

sunset or sunrise--the moon or the sun? 

Are you

sweet on me?

Because 

I'm watching my feet 

And you're

tripping up

listening to the street

raising brow

seeing the clouds & feeling the sunrise.

I don't remember the of color your eyes, mine are blue.