The Universe Can Paint A Different Picture, But This Is Ours

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
Sometimes things are not always as they seem and sometimes all the signs from the universe are bullshit and we can actually have things our way; you just have to find someone to get totally lost in.

Submitted: April 04, 2016

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Submitted: April 04, 2016

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The Universe Can Paint A Different Picture, 

But This Is Ours

 

The clouds were building,

swirling blacks and grays,

across the field,

still brown

and dry

and dead

from the long winter

we seemed forever living in.

The wind was howling,

shaking trees

and metal towers,

linked by swinging power lines.

We stood on the front porch,

smoking cigarettes,

as you told me, once again,

how much you loved the rain.

I never get tired

of hearing it.

I never get tired of anything

you say.

I could listen to you

say the same thing for

the rest of our

lives.

And if I'm lucky,

I'll get the chance.

 

We had been drinking wine,

and vodka,

and a few beers.

We were staring at each other

like two people in a crowded room

who want nothing more than to

sneak to the bathroom

and fuck like it's our

last night on Earth.

Then you start talking about marriage,

as wind catches

your golden blonde hair,

it's like gold being spun

on a spinning wheel,

something that should be impossible

yet I am watching it happen

right in front of me.

 

I'm totally and utterly

lost, in your eyes,

your wonderful,

deep oceans,

of eyes,

when I look into them

I can feel the sand between my toes.

I forget everything else

happening around me,

whenever I look at you,

I get tunnel vision,

like right before you pass out

when the world fades away

and it is only you,

only you and me,

nothing else.

 

So you are talking about marriage,

still,

and you are getting worried that I'm

never going to ask you.

You are afraid when you bring it up

You are going to upset me,

or push me away.

Because you know everything about me,

and you know that until I met you

I never wanted to get married,

I never saw the point,

I never thought I would.

But like I said,

then I met you.

And all the while you are worriedly telling me all

these things, all while you are trying

not to say too much, trying not to

scare me.

While the storm rolls closer,

while lightening and thunder

crack open the horizon,

This ominous storm that seemed

to be bringing bad tidings,

like a metaphor for

some earth shattering truth

about to be dropped,

or some crazy drunken argument

boiling under the surface,

as we smoke and stare and talk

at each other.

 

Even with all the foreshadowing

that the universe is painting around us,

I know that none of it matters,

as I look, long at you,

as the world fades away around you

and you are all I see,

I know that inside the house,

inside my desk,

behind the ashtray I sometimes use

when you are asleep,

I already have a ring.

I've had it for weeks.


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