What I wanted for us:

What I wanted for us:

by Joey Clutario

An oak bungalow,

perhaps,

built on a cliff― facing the sea―

(like a lighthouse cut short)

painted in stark white―

never stained―

shed roof ―except, of course,

on the living room: glass ceiling―

just like how you wanted it.

A pastel-clear canvass in mind:

how you loved to star-gaze

every night, always

reminding me that even the most

beautiful star dies. There,

I could stare endlessly

watching them, from the living room―say,

while I lie on the cherry carpet,

or while I enjoy dinner.

I could close my eyes and see

you in the morning―warmed

by the oceanic sun from the French windows―

we’re like a holy couple awakening―

our pure nakedness half obscured―

your sun-stricken hair halos the calmness

of your face―morning angel right under the sheets.

Life will be there.

And there,

I could stare endlessly.

When the skies reflect the color of your eyes

I could go out, watch the seagulls from afar―

the gentle rush of breeze against my face―

the ocean singing to a little boy, hush

while with a force it collides

toward the cliff

where like our souls

we

drift.