Wess “Mongo” Jolley

   Poet, and Performance Poetry Promoter
   The Raw Heart of Endless Fascination

 


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Longing


I long
    to hear you
        speak to me
    in my sleep
        and tell me
            things about myself
        that I don't know
    in a language
        that I don't
    understand

    to pass you on
        the street
    not recognize
        your face
            and never know
        that you turn
    and watch me
        walk away

    to weep in the theatre
        three rows in front of you
            an art film
        spoken in Swahili
    reading the subtitles
        unaware
            that after the movie
        you only remember
    the shape
        of my shoulders

I long
    to wonder who it was
        that gave me this
            scar
        to touch it
            scratch it
        absentmindedly
    while thinking of anything
        but you

    to be defined by you
        refined by you
            filtered, purified
        and expelled by you
    all through a dirty cafe window
        and all between
            desert and the check

    to wake up one morning
        years from now
    and have all of the loss
        crash in on me
            in an avalanche of
        regret

I long
    for a universe so appalled
        that it would roll
            back the sun
        to the moment I turned away
    and disappeared into
        the crowded bar

    to see the sky
        open up
    for me that morning
        like wings

    to turn over
        touch your face
    and ask
        your name

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