This Life Is Like A Movie-Only Better

I love your smell of detergent and the gentle sloping of your forehead to your
Genetically obtained nose that finds it’s correct place on my face when we kiss
I love the smell of burning wood and somehow it brings me back to laying in your arms
With my polar fleece jacket, breathing the smoke
Or learning strange games insinuating drug use that I figured out at
Another girl you used to like’s party where my old flame sat and pretended to laugh
I remember your face, illuminated, and I wondered if you’d miss her when she left
The moon shines bright tonight but we’re due for an eclipse and I’m due for a good cry
Because it’s been too long
And other women will always dominate some part of your life I haven’t touched yet,
And that’s okay because I can’t be expanded like a math equation can
And I hear things like “I will be home then” and automatically sing along
And expect to hear you harmonizing like you once did
But I suppose a solo is in order now, under the circumstances
You know, when it was wartime (when ISN’T it wartime) no,
Long ago when it was wartime you would have been sent away to an airship or boat
Then I’d depend on your weekly or monthly letters and hang the wash and hope
To see your shadowed figure beyond the white bedsheets
Like in the movies, but in film it doesn’t show distance hurting this much
I mean, like people doubled over crying until their eyeballs are completely red
Gasping for the air they wonder why should reach their lungs
Maybe they should observe real people
And then decide what a true lover’s longing looks like
It’s not green or silky or ragged or pale or wet or pregnant

Pan the camera over here;
Yeah, it looks like that.