Miss Blue Eyes

Miss Blue Eyes,

why can't you be free

from the torments of this

world: the weight of molecules

colliding to make you have to

react.

It can be so nice,

my arms I hear. Can hold

three people and them weightless.

If only for that fleeting second

the hummingbird taught me, I could

make you weightless too.

Wait less is what I

want to do. But more than that

I want you to be well, and good,

and confident that the constituents

of your anatomy will elect you

their favorite leader.

I can try to campaign for you

if you let me in your screen door and

through the window white. If

you let me cook you hamburgers,

or spaghetti with a fine marinara

meat sauce, like I did once before.

That was nice, Miss Blue Eyes,

for me, at least.

And though I've given part of

my heart to you as I do to all,

it weighs nothing and I'll never

ask for it back either. I just

ask that you know how hard

it is to sit idly by. A car mechanic

with no car and no hands.

I just ask you to let me

know when I can be with

you and if I make you

feel nice.

I think if you do then that

piece of my cardiovascular

whole will grow and grow. If

it gets to big and you get scared,

just set it in my mailbox. But pull

off a piece first, it's for you'd

like it.

As hard as it is to say:

Don't worry about me,

I'll be fine Charlie Brown.