Beautiful things that you'll never have,
clashing lights dance to an orchestrated symphony
and I sip quietly in the corner.

Protons sent at light speed blind you,
tidal waves curl and bind you
while I peel the sticker off of my lighter.

You've set your heart before me now,
crucified and defiled,
begging for the slightest glance.

I set forth my gaze becoming a statue
to never give you what you need.
Because I like to watch you bleed,
and I'm certain of the doubt
that lies within me.

With lips like a loaded gun
and scissors for a tongue,
her kiss is a cold ring of steel
pressed to my mouth
and her whisper slits my throat
with a simple "I do."

A loose wool-knit sweater had holes in the pattern,
through which her skin was visible both above and below
the dark sports-bra wore stretched across her *******.
I could see the thin straps draped over her collarbones,
and thought about the lines they leave in her skin.

Yoga pants squeezed her legs underneath of thigh-high socks,
and both were layered below tall leather boots with low heels.
An olive green fatigue jacket hung open around her and
was adorned with a colorful scarf that lay claim to her neck,
its tassels curled and bounced with each step she took
mirroring precisely the loose curls in her fair hair.

Finger-less gloves left her free to feel the texture of the
pages she turned one by one in a book pulled from the shelf.
She had sat down right in the aisle, planting herself in front of
the poetry section inside of a crowded Barnes and Nobles.
Sitting there with such an elegance, I lack the words for it,
completely unnoticed and free from the numerous
holiday shoppers that were carefully stepping over her,
books in their own arms, and heading for the cash registers.