Follow Through
Baby where are you
Probably far away
Sometimes I try to picture your face
or hear you laugh
at my jokes and antics
But it's been so long
Sometimes I get frantic
Middle age descended with a quickness
My twenties and my youth just blurred images
careening by me, craning my neck as they passed
My dance card stayed empty cos I hate to dance
But if you wanna sway with me
to a slow song
and make me forgive you
for taking so long
to finally get here when you finally do
and whisper good intentions
and show some follow through
Well then I'd agree
to slow dance a while
as we taste each other's smile
Much misdirection, many a mile
must keep us apart, but never lose heart
because I haven't gone stoic, when
we cross paths I'll know it
Keep your senses sharp
to see me in the dark
This time of year's mostly night
Survival's a fight
It's a miracle if we're both still alive
There's an extent to which I believe in fate
Maybe it's my own fault mine's
always running late
But when we meet you can
bet I'll make time
to make sure we're sure
whether or not stars align
Cos destiny, baby, is prone to distraction
We might have to tell it instead of asking
I'll tell you one thing, you'll be immortalized
with poems about how hearing your name feels
and how it makes my head swim to see your eyes
There will be poems to make you laugh
and some that might make you cry
Some might do both at once
but, baby, just keep in mind
I need to know how my name hits you too
and what you see when you look into my blues
So if you're sticking around, give me the news
It doesn't have to be poetry, but it has to be true
This piece feels like someone speaking softly into the future, holding onto the hope that the person meant for them is still on their way.
It carries the ache of years passing too quickly, of watching life blur by while the heart waits for someone it hasn’t met yet.
There’s something deeply human in imagining a face you’ve never seen and still feeling the longing as if it were memory.
The slow‑dance invitation feels like a wish for gentleness for someone who arrives late but arrives right.
The poem admits to detours, loneliness, and missed timing, yet refuses to let go of the belief that connection is still possible.
Its faith in fate is tender and wounded, the kind that keeps breathing even when it’s tired of hoping.
The promise to immortalize the beloved in poems feels like love preparing a place long before the person appears.
What moves most is the desire not just to be loved, but to know how one’s own name sounds in another person’s heart.
The poem holds longing with softness, turning vulnerability into something almost luminous.
What lingers is a quiet plea: when we finally meet, let it be real, and let it be enough.