Utopia

my version, at least

My Utopia is not sweet.

It’s mellow red wine spilled

Across the front of your white oxford shirt.

 

On a day our plans got cancelled

Because of a summer storm that came out of nowhere

And washed the neighbors chalk drawings from the street.

 

So we found ourselves in a tangle of limbs

On the faded brown couch you got from the house you grew up in

When your mother decided it was time for an upgrade.

 

That was, until the thunder startled me from the haze

That falls across your mind in those moments before

Sleep comes to take you to her kingdom

 

Leaving me with an empty glass

and you with a rapidly spreading stain

barely holding back a laugh

 

A place where imperfection in the very air

Whispers to me that I am fine

just the way I am

Reviews

[Lea Sheryn]

Well stated. I enjoyed reading your poem.