The Mating Verses

Over here perch dressed-up words,
Hoping to be asked to dance.

Over there, the memories
Cluster awkwardly, confused,

Scrutinizing distant words,
Hoping to pick out the best.

Matches almost never work,
But they’ll get made anyway.

The offspring of these mistakes
Will wonder how their parents

Could have gotten together,
Could have chosen each other.

They don’t know, child. They don’t know.
Across the shining dance floor,

Desperate with hope for more
Than any plain word deserves,

More than any memory
Could ever be worthy of,

The straightest line to some warmth
Willing to cling tight feels fine.