by Carly Marks
It’s a brisk sunny Sunday
In between a rainy February
On a plane leaving Los Angeles
Land of Artists or All sorts of Abilities, if you will…
It’s an interesting reason for a February season; of it’s own
In a perfect world, I’d envelop it in a letter
And send it to my future if I could
Where the moments and memories will soon fade into one
In a perfect world, I’d store it in a bottle
It’d make a perfect model
For all those Waiting, Watching, Why-ing
Wishing for what they want to be finding
Too hung up on the What If’s and the Never’s
‘Stead of chasing their …
Semi-precious
Whatever’s
It was a fabulous Friday
Even concerns became perfections
Rather, a world of it’s own
One of perfect perceptions
For the rainy month of February
The kind when nobody ever really falls in love
He said it was the best cold he ever had
He said her memories are vague now
They don’t even plague him now
He sneezed out his devotions and breathed in fresh love
It was a sensual Saturday
A ride to remember
Through March, April, May; maybe even December
In a perfect world
February would last past next Sunday
It could even last until one day
Like
Forever
February rain washed away the What If’s
Drowned the However’s
The Why’s, The But’s, The How’s’ and The Never’s
Transforming clouds of fear into a rainbow of hope
In a perfect world
I’d consistently consume this sun
Burning my skin, for love has begun
In a perfect world
This month of February would shine
For people like me, for him
I’d be his Valentine
In a perfect world, of it’s own
We’d place these emotions in a locket
Reopen them in the future, to carry casually in our pocket
In a perfect world, he’d be with me
I’d be resting my head on his shoulder
The plane would be landing
And I would be standing
Next to him, as myself, but much older
It’s a brisk sunny Sunday
In between a rainy February
On a plane leaving Los Angeles
Land of Artists or All sorts of Abilities, if you will…
It’s an interesting reason
For a February season, of it’s own
It’s an interesting reason
For a love of all seasons
A love of a February, of it’s own
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