a strange but beautiful occurance

a strange but beautiful occurance below a promise
of rain, birds strip off a wire,
peas from a pod.
waiting for a turn
the wind spits oak
leaves at the glass
between us,
fluttery insectious,
infectious as laughter, like
remember when-ing.

you say we aren't metaphors, only people.
i wonder how you can be so sure.

i was looking
for nothing when
you found me.
virtually everything i seemed
to want. send me words
that match what i mean
without all the bother of actual
paper, without all the flesh
fuss, without all
the redundant
replies to reruns
that no one's watching.

or maybe that's just been you.
i can't speak for the rest of the world.

odd how when it's your idea
it's more palatable. to you.
but i've been holding the chocolate
on my cold tongue waiting for bitter
to melt something other than eyes.

i'm so tired of waiting
for the right wind to blow.
if i were a bird, i'd want
to the one already flown
ahead of the simile, olive
pit in my beak, ready to grow
an ace of staves.