The coiled phone wire wrapped
around her capricious fingers,
Her chest, pitched then collapse,
air solders clings cleaves splinters,
She sighs, she suspires
And her eyes communicate a vision
veering away from her present self,
Swerving in and out of ambition,
I could never gather all that she felt,
She sights, she seeks skyward
Her mouth leaks what she muses,
her lips remind me of victorian doorways,
The wood, the skin, it bruises
as she absorbs enclosing disarray,
She cries, she is tired
The way she leans in her maroon pants
Her hands plunging in her pockets,
I fervidly hope she finds other plans,
revives abandoned passions, left in cluttered closets