On a Friday the Thirteenth


     i
Count the stars
in the sky	in my eyes.
Pluck them and keep them
in your palm.
Hold on to one, two, or three
hours that you and I had:
my memories should be
your memories too.

     ii
I bury my face
in your hands
your soft, warm hands
which are bigger than mine.
Don't use them to push me
away from your sadness: 
your sadness should be
my sadness too.

     iii
i am your puppet
without strings
attached to my hands and feet.
You make me dance 
to your tune.
You make my heart skip
to your beat.
I have tangled emotions:
your music should be
my music too.

     iv
Say you care
about   my rough feet
           my rough hands
           my rough face
about whether I heal
or die.
i do not want to be a file.

i don't want to lose myself in misery
nor in a crowd

i'll hold you 
to a promise you made
(can I count on your memory?):
your promise should be
my promise too.

     v
I'll give you liberty
to hook my fingers with yours
to catch me when i teeter 
                                     and fall
to call me names other than my own
(i do not like mine)

in return, I want
your cynical remarks
your critical observations
your honest opinion
my happiness back:
my happiness should be
your happiness too.

Back to the Purple Pages.