"Daffodils for Her"

Pretending not to understand her question
and proposing only an even-handed "yes" or "no,"
I offer her daffodils.

Picture this

Outside my mother's house,
an early conception of a painter's final product
when only the shadowy impression of the painting has yet been conceived of --
You, my background
I, your foreground --
I stand before you sitting on the front stoop.
Your mouth in it's ever-present crooked slight downturn,
a sway of the shoulders, just a touch upward,
gestures I quickly recognize
as one does in the tabulating of a true love's weakness/otherness.
The overhead sun hits you dead on,
you squinch your eyes near shut, looking up at me.

Picture taking form

Whether it is me or you --
filling in the empty spaces of white,
illuminating flaws, shading all else --
I don't know.

You set the daffodils down on the stoop

Gin soaked choral reprieve of "To be or not to be..."
loved
swelling the interim between this "us",
soaking your lips
at this early 12 pm hour.
You tilt the tumbler glass back down away from your mouth.
My eyes --
freeze framed on the daffodils
(her favorite flower),
lying on the concrete.

But then - just then...

sun wavers for a split second, your beautiful eyes widen on mine.

Steady the brush in hand

Throw away all assumptions, logical deductions, presentiments
and easily fill in the negative space between.

She stands, picks up the daffodils I gave her and we go inside.