she was not a predictable kind of girl
not on the elliptical after work, kind of churlish,
living in a simple world type of girl

her hair cyclical in raphael kind of curls
and her biblical storm swirled whirlwind eyes unfurl
in the rain
like a pirouette
like a rose
like rolling thunder

I can't wash off the flower she drew
on my arm earlier this afternoon
A forget me not.
A game of 'she loves me. she loves me not'
A knot untied
I feel the fear that Narcissus must have felt as his ears turned to petals,
his hair to vines.
and his scream to a blooming flower

effortlessly wearing a cigarrette on her lips
head tilted high with one hand on her hips
a dizzyingly incandescent, nicotine laugh
i think i'd die for her
write that on my epitaph

deep-set moon-crater eyes
lips as red as the dust on mars
all i asked was for a little space
but she gave me all its stars

i make a wish on the shooting stars
that roll down her cheeks
a thousand tears over a thousand hours
a meteor shower; crashing onto the waves of her lips

Every second a star dies
And I'm not sure what that signifies
But when we met I used to see supernovas in your eyes
Now there's nothing grand but something simpler
And that's how it always ends
Not with a bang
But with a whimper

We begin to fall asleep
well before we run out of words
as I hold her in my arms
or am i held in hers?