It is not enough, sometimes,
to lie in the sun and smile.

Sometimes,
I want more, more, more.

I want to drink in the world,
as my skin drinks in the sun.

I want to open my arms
and hold onto

everything! Everything,
and nothing.

I think, as many people say,
in many cliched poems

My joy would be complete, dear,
if you were only here.

(but still I keep your hand,
as a precious souvenir -

except that last is a line from a Tom Lehrer song
subverting, as always, the cliche)

But it is true. If I could look to you
under the light of this sun

and meet your gaze
under the same sky,

out on the same green-shaded grass,
I could be perfect.

I think.
Instead, instead of being with you

I spent last night at a party of semi-strangers
lying on the moonlit grass and stargazing

and dreaming of lying in your arms
(you, currently, are an amalgamation

of two very different people,
who have both struck my heart -

starstruck as it is, and longing
for further enticement)

and staring at the stars. If
I could have been with you,

instead of just thinking,
dreaming, of you

I think I would have been complete.
Even the stars that night

were not enough.