you were mouthing beautiful words but
i couldn't hear them
it looked like someone put you on Mute,
but you swore there was something wrong with my hearing,
your words were crystal clear, loud enough,
and i believed you because maybe there was
something wrong with me and not you,
until someone came to me and said
"Why does no sound come out when he moves his mouth?"

it was 9-something o' clock
and we were in your car
parked by the playground that would witness us 2 months later,
kissing despite the cold hiatus that wedged itself between
us because you didn't know what you wanted,
anyways,
you pulled out your AP Environmental Science notebook
and your handwriting was small and neat
and i held you because your stomach was hurting
and i kissed you because somehow seeing your handwriting made me fall in love with you
for the twentieth time,
and i wrongly thought
that the way you handled a pen somehow indicated a steady hand with which
you could hold my heart

if eyes are windows to the soul (or whatever)
then yours surely existed, but they were tinted almost black
and i'm sure you could see out,
but i couldn't see in,
and they were always turned away from me,
perhaps yearning to open to someone else,
(does it get hot in there...
do you ever air it out?)

you wanted to invite him in because
he didn't seem too interested in coming inside --
if he was too eager, you'd be
suspicious,
and it's nice finally meeting someone who doesn't
want something from you,
fascinated,
you offer him your dearest hospitality,
and you feed him but he
refuses, and you think
wow he's so polite
but he actually hates tiramisu
and he doesn't admit it
until you offer to give him tiramisu every night for the rest of his life