Poem: Lacking Options

Sometimes, when I’m resting chin in hand with
elbow on the desk I wonder if I’m with you because you are here.

Like, if you were in California, or Nevada, would I be with you
among the sea of sun bleached blondies, or arms so big men
that don’t wear shoes walking down mountains, or any of the
dark hair, black eyebrows with blue blue eyes boys trying their
face at acting?

Or are you my illusion of choice conundrum, the jam I pick from
three options instead of choosing none from the ninety nine flavors
I’d get on the coast?

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