Hidden from our sight,
Because of the cloudy sky,
What a gloomy day!

No birds will sing,
The sun will not shine forth light,
Today is so grey!

So very dismal,
Today is so different,
It is not cheerful!

The sun will not dance,
It won't play it's playful prance,
Nor cast it's sunrays.

*~Marian~

Do Not!
stare at me from across the room

Hide!
your arrant looks, at least try

Look Away!
there is nothing here for you

Boy, don't you know?
You had your chance.

You!
think you get a second chance

No!
find some other girl to play your games

Get out!
leave my heart to mend

Boy, don't you know?
You had your chance.

I like to read love poetry to help me fill in your outline.
Love poetry meaning,
I got my guts kicked out by a falling star the other night.
Your sweater came unraveled after a dose of moonshine.
Someone forgot to turn on the Eiffel Tower again
(they must have flipped my switch instead).

I guess what I'm trying to say is,
I'm holding myself in a continuous state of
"why can't you just take out the garbage"
and
"my garbage
(socks and kleenex and so many strands of DNA)
is all over your floor and maybe I'll pick it up later"
and
"leave it, don't touch it, so perfect, right now, even if it's ******"
and
"I found this box and I want hide every remnant of any interaction and I make big messes but every Sunday is my cleaning day and I will remove every trace of you and me and socks and I and intertwined DNA"

I like it when my guts scream.
Not from the Indian food
(no thank you)
but from my imagination,
always four score and seven years of full speed ahead.
I like to think my mucosal membrane knows how to respond
when assaulted with good life intention.