What I Don't Need / desiredata

I want to hear your music
hear your music again
from your hands, from your lips

I want your poetry, sensitive and red
like a pickup truck
previously owned by richard brautigan

I want to see your sunsets
sunsets of nothing but horizon
without a road to ride off on

I want to walk your divided road
to the alhambra on the corner
for spanish omelettes and a fruit cup

I want iced tea and your local paper
local and unknown
like raw skin burnt by the walking sun

I want your walls of pinups and cowgirls
nostalgic and smirking
in sunday morning altar-light

I want to be on my knees in your garden
your garden's earth around my fingers
your subtle laugh beside me

I want to feel your breathing deep
to sleep and not to sleep
under a comfort rainbow