I'll let my chicken wrap just rest 

here as I 

hear about your week.

 

Its peanut-curry crunch

silenced by your over-sized watch as

it tick tick ticks

against your silky, soft wrist.

 

I'll let myself forget what day it is

but remember how your 

jaw click click clicks

with every chew.

 

Servers might see it on my face.

Strangers maybe will, too.

 

I'll let our small talk transcend 

the usual topics.

You get my neurons firing.

Banter is at ease with you.

 

Readers may reach for bookmarks,

then glance our way.

 

I'll greet colleagues

with a bit brighter pitch.

And why not let your name slip out 

while catching up with friends?

 

They just might hear it in my voice,

in the melody of you.

 

I'll let my heart race down the cereal aisle 

to that time you taught me

to totter the bag,

rationing the ratio of Raisin to Bran.

 

Shoppers might catch you in my gaze,

join in and reminisce with me.

 

I'll go to bed devising schemes of 

how not to think of you,

but wake up

in need of a much better plan.

 

Even the characters of my dreams,

don't they all know by now?

 

I'll shout it from the rooftops 

to everyone

without saying a word 

to anyone.

 

 

© Candice Reineke 2016