onomatopoem


turning my face up to the showerhead
setting the alarm, again, and getting back into bed
turning one last page
no one makes demands,
(except for my mother)
the remote control might never leave my hand
i can eat a shrimp enchilada every day
no one to hear about these dreams
except for sal and gustavo
my private ceremonies
my excellent jokes
the long deep breaths
and the red candle burning on the mantle
and the light of my laptop
i can slip in and out of the world at will
if the phone rings, will i answer?
if you knock at my window,
will i come and let you in?
and if you say
i'll be there
will
i be there?
you sew me up for moments at a time
your face
you fascinate me for a week
for months you think
i am yours
i wish you were right