Watching you eat, like no one was watching...

I will always be older 

in the mirror than in my mind,

and so always looking for a way

to slow down time.

                                                        I will always full-body feel my feelings

                                                       before I can full-think their reasons,

                                       and after go blind to half of those patterns

                    while I trip through the oncoming season.

I will always want the person I just now see 

More than any old friend who already knows my touch;

I will always notice where more could be

More often than I remember where I have so, so much.

                                                          I will always be a little sad

                                                       That my dreams arise mostly just to die;

                                                      I will always be a little late to becoming

                                    who I wish I'd been—in a moment sliding by.

My lungs always silently find their will

in a hundred little things:

water down my cheek hairs or 

a wind-song full of birds.

                            And I will always spend too much time

                                                     thinking what to say,

                                  while always knowing—in the end—

                  trust rarely builds up by words.

I will always look in wonder

at you being so not-me,

Until you puzzle back stiffly,

saying “What. Hello there! What?”

               And I will always shrug back,

                     “Oh, nothing. Really! Nothing,”

  muffling my joy, while this dream of ours

spills everywhere, over-stuffed.