Soft-Bellied Spring

I’d like to think of some soft-bellied spring
Where you’re so filled with novel scents and cliché afternoon admirations
that you never need to speak.
Where you are spinning images in synchronization with your
coffee spoon and watching them circle beneath you.
Where you fixate only upon the reappearance of the sun
and its
curious presentation-
So luminous and overpowering that it can only be
humanly perceived through a certain subtle distortion,
streaking or bursting into view.

I’d like to think of you as I have thought of so many distant acquaintances before,
Their careers and wives and receding hairlines all wrapped up into a singular blurred flash across my mind, Swelling and dazzling like that same old sun.
But you are so much closer than preference would have.
You are vivid and perfectly in focus.
Only in this picture you don’t swirl the world with your spoon,
Not so nicely, anyway.

I’d like to think it was true,
All those things they told us about forgiveness and its connection to the spring.
In the blooming curl and warmth through the window,
In the fusion of your face with all the faces in my mirror
Maybe all it takes is a certain
subtle distortion.