four years ago I held back.
funny you of everyone
should fail to realize that I,
I am the same as he:
more than ever now
I am a Jay Gatsby
to a Daisy Buchanan.
yes, more than with you,
and now you,
you are someone new.
often on a sort of stakeout—
windows and doors and
openings and lights that tell me
through the glass across the way
your effortless exit ritual captivates me;
my eye is caught and I cannot help but watch
(the movement of your body
as a new layer of fabric cascades over you…
so simple an act as you prepare to face
the same space in which I am standing).
only once have I found you in the green light
(and I’m waiting for you to give it to me),
but even if I hadn’t, I would always search for you,
hoping to feel the thrill up my spine
that only you can provide.