Witchy Woman Poem by mike ruthenbeck

indeed, it would be
most unfavorable
for us to share words
though why that is
i am entriely unsure...
as i lay here
listening to this old jazz record
in the dark
with my tobbacco pipe
and my young mans heart
in my old man's body
i want to dream of you;
but i stop myself
from even falling asleep.
the child i was
in the spring of our love
hasnt aged a day
but i have wrinkles near my eyes now
i guess from the smoking
and i wonder, most often
if you would even recognize me
should i knock on your door
and smile at you, i can
imagine the discomfort;
the fleeting emotion
flickering in your eyes
through the screen door on
the back porch
where i used to read to you,
while you sketched in your pad,
from up in the tree
where i had slung my hammock
against your sound advice
but it was the only place high enough
where i could see the river

and seeing the river
was so important
i needed you to see
how badly i needed you to see
me seeing the river.
you didn't get it I guess;
you were supposed to be upset with me.
so to infinity, at midnight,

i remind myself how much
i really used to love you