Lisa--Who Else?


The first time, you turned down

the radio so you wouldn’t have to

yell, and I knew we were in for

a ride. What didn’t I know

after three hours? Your taste

in men—me I thought. 

In travel—Europe.

In religion—strong.

In honesty—honest.

So I knew details about

who you dated in high school

and how you were accosted in Paris.

The singing of your voice

made every detail dance in my

head. I had no inkling

you would someday sing for

me in bed. What did

I know after three hours?

Maybe I knew the future.





There’s a certain something when I’m with you.

I mean almost a certain nothing. Comfort,

recognition, intimacy. Whatever

it is, I feel it with you. We 

are better together than not. I can tell

you anything, even if it hurts, and I 

can listen, too. You

are as beautiful as I can make

you feel. Does it feel beautiful?

Sometimes I wonder if you even know;

sometimes I wonder if I show you enough.

I’d show you everything if I could—everything

I could. But what do we want from one

another? Everything? Tough to say.

So sometimes I don’t say anything. Or maybe

that’s all I need to say to let you know

because I think you do already.