I wrote this poem using the words on a post card that a very dear, sweet friened who moved a few months back sent me.
September 16, 2008
Sunday mornings I sometimes miss
the days in your world – comphy
couches, brunch, purple Paris. Sunny
walks in parks full of pigeons remind me
of you in New York. Remind me of plans,
elaborate escapes. All scenarios are better
if we’re both there. Hangovers, movies,
in your world, I hope for architecture and pastries.
Oh, I hope things are lovely. Oh, I hope for this soon.