I knew the first time I talked to you,
a phone line connecting five states,
that you could be someone about whom I’d write poetry.
It wasn’t the abstract descriptions
or the fact that I was unsure of your age,
but the passion in your rambling
and the unexpected laughs I half took credit for causing.
I’m enticed by anything that makes professionalism less professional.
I only adore workplaces that fit in witty banter
and I’ll look back on a job fondly if there was a pretty face involved;
my history asserts this.
Upon introductions, your stress was evident,
my lack of experience glaring,
my communication skills less than impressive –
still – you ask and listen and we talk standing up for over an hour AFTER I say I’m leaving.
I don’t leave.
How could I?
You’re the reason I’m here.
I want to say this to you.
There’s so much I want to say.
(Are you like this with everyone?)
And now look at us, sweating together for hours a day,
fitting in plenty of sarcastic humor,
a couple exchanged secrets,
and at least one long conversation about the state of the world –
all before lunch.
Our goal is to conquer Rainier.
I kind of just want to conquer you –
or myself – I can’t decide.
But if you gave me a sign,
if you continue to talk more about dreams that include me
than your wife at home,
I will give up on my own search for independence
because
in finding you,
I’ve found all I need.
I’m sorry I’ve been filled with tears that need shoulders
and rants that need ears
and gazes that need reciprocation –
you offer it all.
I can’t go on unexposed.
You make this unfamiliar place
home.