Matthew Lyle Landsman

Ours is the story I have yet to write.
Yours is the hair I yearn to smell after the fading of light. I am yet
to tread the water one sees within the depths of your eyes. I'm still
looking forward to reminiscing over our first dates and seeing the rose
you picked for me hanging over my sink while our fondness grows and
the blossom dries.

I look forward to knowing how you like
your coffee, and whether you are crystal flute or a Tupperware tumbler
kind of girl…and if you know the vessel holds no bearing on the content
as long as the heart is warm and the breezes are fair.

Do you wear a spritz of perfume even
when you're alone…just in case I might happen by? Will you bury your
nose in a pillow that smells of my cologne just to bring me closer to
you when we spend time apart?

Will I be the first call you make no
matter if the news is troubled or glad? Will your waking moments find
you reaching to find me as we are the first thought that fills your
mind?

And will your heart forget its rhythm
when you realize you are hearing what will be "our song" for
the first time? At the moment it happens, will you pull your car to
the shoulder and have trouble dialing my number because of the mist
that fills your eyes?

It is true we have yet to meet, but I
know you're out there searching too.

If these things aren't bad for you to
be around…let it be me…The poet in me awaits you. 

Matthew Landsman

Summer 2008