The Near Future Has Been Left Behind

There’s a beauty that inspires hope

And one that kills confidence

And you’ve managed to do both

This cognitive dissonance has become the standard

For all interactions in the near future

It’s a tennis match inside

While never knowing where the ball is

And the line judge is just as clueless

Just as distracted by the way you sway

Le futur proche is a stew of rotten ingredients

Le futur simple has more hope

Those ingredients are still growing in the garden

Which I love admiring more than the lingerie

You wore to my debut, underneath

The dress we stained when we camped in the backyard

Because why wait for special occasions

When we can create our own

By splurging on simple activities

Just because it’s how I can say I love you

Without completely breaking down into tears

But it inspires me to a grander ambition

While also acknowledging how I’ll never

Be who I see in you

It’s for the best though

As these ingredients grow and wither

While the dog keeps the rabbits away

I smile more in the sunshine and pollen

Despite the allergies