I Barely Know You So I Wonder the Important Things a prose poem by Andrea Fekete
Updated: Sep 25, 2019
I don’t wonder about your job, your morning routine, your sign, your sister or your mom. How low you keep the thermostat. If you exercise. Your mortgage. Student debt. Your temper or genes. If you’re a cat person or dogs. (I’m allergic to dogs) I haven’t wondered if your father would hate my southern accent. If you like your father. How many lovers it takes to keep you satisfied. If you‘d expect me to wash your clothes, raise babies. Are you a yeller. (I can’t stand a yeller) I haven’t wondered if you’d let me pick drapes. If you’re kinky or religious. If you hate theater or Bach. (I love both)
Instead, when I am alone with my coffee by the window in the morning, I wonder what color your eyes would seem at night by a streetlamp, snow swirling around your hair. I’ve wondered if you’d guide me into a crowded room with your hand on the small of my back. What your hands feel like. Your 5 o’clock shadow brushing my cheek in the morning. Would I always melt warm, sleepy or just for a little while? I’ve pondered saying “you’re beautiful.” If I could make you blush. If you‘d mind if I tried. And kissing you. Mostly I’ve wondered that. And also, why didn’t we?