Pragmatism
Or: A Mind Before a Heart
My father raised me to be
a pragmatic man, a thinker,
a mind before a heart,
so when I see you for the first time
I know I won’t say these things.
I won’t say
that I’m a sucker for girls like you,
girls with a little bit
of honey in their smiles
and mischief in their eyes,
girls who look like
they can’t keep secrets,
girls whose souls
are made of stardust
and midnight whispers.
I won’t say
that I need to hear you speak,
to hear you laugh, just once,
so that I know the music
God breathed into your voice.
No, I am a pragmatic man,
so I won’t say these things.
I won’t say
that I want to set my heart to beat
in rhythm with your walk,
or that you are a lioness
in a world full of house cats.
I won’t say
that one glance from you
sets my hair on end,
convinces me that there is
reality in obscurity,
convinces me that these
words are more than words,
that these words are your words
are your thoughts
are truth,
convinces me that the
lightning on my tongue
and the thunder in my heart is real,
that you and I and us
are real.
I won’t say
that I love you.
No.
I will watch you walk away,
wordless, loveless,
as I quake to the bone
in the shadow of my love.
About the Creator
Zachary James
I try to write things from time to time.
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