“Perdón, amor,”
I’ll call you “love”
so quick and bright
with a smile-
Don’t mean
you’ll stay
but just that “hey,
you’re someone I enjoy.”

And mention you might I
don’t see me as cute
in the way
one looks at a child-

Try as I might
I do take “no” as an answer
Let’s just speak to one another
and I’ll be content.

Why is Death always scowling?
Does he hate the life he takes,
or the death he gives?

Love turns tragic in Persia,
in Venice,
in China,
in graveyards,
in movies,
in poems.

Love gets deadly
in candles tall as men.

Only after we fail
to bring it back
from where it's gone,
do we ever think
to join it
where it's at.

They prayed for me as a victim of abuse
It's the truth, but what's the use?

She doesn't change. Paranoia.
Malice and spite.  But the Georgetown Hoyas

Knew my uncle and my mother's death
I dropped my poems. Chapel breath.

Please help her and protect the boys.  Nevertheless.

Calm and order. Quiet quest.

"I don't believe in magic,"
the young boy said,

and the old man smiled,
"You will, when you see her."

- a t t i cu s

She is divergent.