Polished

Can I write two poems
about you in one night?
Of course I can.
Endless inspiration.
I wonder what you thought
on Tuesday when I laughed
so hard I held my side.
Did you notice my fingers,
red nails freshly painted?
Or the delicate pearls
that lined my wrist?
Did you think
“Damn, it’s good to hear
her laughing so hard.
It’s been too long”?
I fantasized
that you wrote a poem
about that moment,
those nails,
the pearls.
I doubt you did
but I’ve just written it
for myself.
It’s real
if my pen says it is.
You’re the only one
who could make sense
of every line I’ve written.
Or maybe it’s me.

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