i.
the rattling of the windows makes her
want a little less, but a little more.
she always tries to step it up,
but her arms (today) are rather sore.
it doesn't matter;
yet
she likes feeling safe.
windows; the memories chafe;
remind her of him. and how
he'd just climb in.
ii.
her phone rings, like the silver circlet enthroned
on her ankle. rings and clings; but who phoned?
even as the bells
move slightly in time with her footsteps;
and the button is nearly as
depressed as her when she has to ask 'Who's this?'
she likes knowing who calls,
maybe he will.
maybe,
she will.
iii.
everytime she picks out a dress,
more care than she'd
(confess)
tell me.
red pink blue green.
something new, he hasn't seen.
save this for the summer.
puts it back on
(only for him)
the rack.
iv.
she loves him.
v.
she says his name with
a little less reverence, a little more
longing.
maybe she should tell him.
maybe he
(doesn't want her)
already knows.
she braids her hair for bed, two little,
knobs on her head, so in the morning
into flowing curls it'd settle,
long and loving.
I never usually write my poems without rhyme or structure/beat; there no structure/beat whatsoever here though. I had to slip rhyme in, because it violates my personal idea of what a poem is if I don't. I usually write about broken, damaged, or unrequited love if I was left to it, but this a poem dedicated to my roommate, whom I personally love with everything I have.
Kiran, I love you, you're the voice I wake up to in the morning, whether I'm depressed or lonely, ecstatic or on cloud nine, you're always there. You're always the 'au naturel' one, the happy one, the one who eats Milo plain, who chucks Scooter Scott Ovaltines at me when I really do need them. Its been five months since we started rooming together, and you have no idea how much you've been of help, support and aid in those five months, and your hugs should be bottled, branded, and sold.
Nik loves you too.