#may poetry

i.

May calls me away from you,

at least for five days a week back to

the city where I’m working 9 ‘til 5.

You’re back under your mother’s thumb,

sleeping through the days, just trying to survive.

ii.

I’m not allowed through your doorway.

Lately I’ve been thinking that if this was a fairy story,

I could ride up on a white horse and set you free.

We could ride off into the sunset.

You could be with me.

iii.

But those stories weren’t written about the real world,

and never about two girls.

Still, I don’t believe May can be all tragic,

not when you fall into my arms every Friday evening and

these weekends are the closest things we have to magic.