For Hope

[August, this is the fourth or fifth poem.  I wrote this in 2008 and edited it today/reworked it.]

I want kisses that mean something
hugs that tickle the inside skin 
I want dreams that come real the next day
memories that last and never fade.
I want songs written about me

be told that I can be, and be free.

I want late-night secrets and warm, 
toffee-tongued kisses.
I want to record the sound of your
lubb-dubb and keep it
keep it.

I want to share my drinks, share my food
share my mind and share my heart with you
in all ways but literal dissection. 

I want it to be okay that I like you.

And for you to like me, too.

I want to see. 
I want to see.
I want to see winter, spring, summer, autumn 
each time of each year 
with my hand wrapped around,
interlocked 
and 
pressed 
against 
yours
stuffed in the pocket of your jacket.

I want to know that you
can hack it.

I want to lean on you. 
Hold you. 
Hug anything about you as long as you’re held against me.
I want to make you smile
bring you tea when you are sad
make you soup when you’re ill
and make love to you when you’re thrilled.

I want to hear you say hello
and know that there’s a whole volume of words
there waiting, 
in the depth of your lungs …

I might seem childish and hopelessly romantic
but what else do I have but my dreams?


- M. R. Wallis