Joe

I sit and think
About the tape I made you
And the books and shuttlecock
You’ve left behind.

I wonder how
I couldn’t reciprocate
When you did all you did
Made music for me
Called me sweetie
And looked at me.

I can sink back to that first night
In your darkened room
With Buckley strumming
And so much in common
And you looked at me.

And my birthday came
And you made me a book
And fed me wine
With the sunset outside
And you looked at me.

I wish I could have felt
Instead of thought
That I could have held
Instead of hid
I wish I could have looked at you
The way you looked at me.