A body is just a vessel that holds the heart,
the mind,
and the spirit.
Somewhere in his damaged brain,
he is screaming that he loves her,
but she will never hear it.

She said, turn out the lights,
I look so much better in the dark.
I said, love is an artist; I like what I see,
And  lit the candle beside her bed.

She said the night and shadows retouch my flaws,
Blend tight curves with round intrigue,
I said, the sexiest bits of you are all unseen,
Now smile and let me love all of you.

And the day came when the risk to remain  tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom

Anais Nin

At the back of the library
sits a dejected round table,
its legs shaky,
wood dulled after years of
seating outcasts.
This is my table.

In the middle of the library
sit a few rectangular tables,
filled with the kids who belong.
I watch their mouths move,
their eyes dancing,
dancing away from my gaze.

The walk to the round table is one of
"wish you could be us."

And I see him,
sitting at the edge of a rectangular table.

My legs become like that of my table's:
shaky, knees weak.

I'm accustomed to admiring from a distance,
but I want to grow accustomed to his diction,
how he talks to me with a "this is temporary"
and to them with a "this is better;"
his imagery,
the lopsided smile that grows wide when he
talks to the brunette on the track team;
his theme,
his purpose,
his everything.

But who am I?
Hunched over a book,
a knight at the round table.

He's the dagger
twisted in my gut,
all the pretty words
dolled up with a
smile that is anything
but pure or true.

He's a spicy treat,
when all I'm looking for
is something sweet.

Perhaps it's wrong of
me, to search for love
in eyes that wander so
far I have to make
maps of their journey.

He has me falling
from the tallest crevices
with promises to catch
me with arms that are
already holding another.

He's a lost cause,
a candle blown out,
the stolen kiss that
was never returned.

But I'd bet all my
money on him within
a heartbeat if he said
he felt even a mere
shadow of what I did.