if you saw him on the street
you wouldn't glance twice
because he does not look extraordinary
and he does not make your heart
skip a beat

but
when you listen to the wonderful, tinkling sound
of his laughter
and his inexcusable, almost inappropriately funny remarks
and when you happen to be lucky enough
to catch him smiling when no one is watching; he makes
your head spin

he is not the most beautiful to the rest of the world
and his eyes do not compare to the brightest of stars, his
hair is not an ocean-type mess and his freckles are not like grains of sand

instead his eyes are like like warm hot chocolate when
you are barely awake and are trying to get through the day, his hair is the
disaster that you can't help but be captivated by and his freckles are like carefully placed light orange dots that seem to connect in a way

I do not see him on the street anymore--
and that is the reason that I no longer
drink hot chocolate and why I hate the color orange
because god, he was not the most beautiful boy in the world
and he wouldn't make a stranger's heart beat twice
but he made mine
and in the end,
that was all that really mattered

watching time go by
with you
is like carving your name into a katalox.

we guard the time
trying to slow down the inevitable
like growing young again.

staring at the small figures
that determine the night
that was once ours.

clawing onto the clocktower,
holding onto the arms
that don't stop for us.

a battle always lost,
time as inexorable as our love
and the pain we will meet.

the death we will kiss
on the cold black lips
after we see that the once seemingly unstoppable things

become needless with time.