The way I liked to feel the dragon tattoo on your arm with my fingertip because it was bumpy, and because I was flirting with you.  The way your head tilted down and to the side just a bit when you smiled that sweet, little boy smile that lit up your eyes.  Your beautiful, golden hair that grew long until Frank talked you into shaving bald.  The warm, delicious feeling that radiated from my toes when you wrapped your arms around me and hugged me just tight enough.  The scent of your cool skin in the morning while we cuddled and lingered, not wanting to get up.  The way we laughed while drinking shots of Tequila and how concerned you were when I fell, cutting my eyelid; the look of worry on your face when I came to after a shake-and-drop, passing out on the kitchen floor.  Telling you not to call 911.  The way we grabbed each other and nearly went white-haired when ***** crawled into the dark living room, looking possessed.  How adorable you looked when you were mulling over something you were confused about.  The way your eyes clouded over and you looked mad when you were betraying me and didn't know what to say.  That far off look in your eyes when you thought of her; that look that told me I would be losing you.

The river flows over empty promises
depositing sediment
in the form of confusion and stagnation
leaving a bad taste in one's mouth.
I hang on your every word.
Grainy is the trail
of crumbs left for inspection:
affectation over articulation;
all the better to hear you.
Skim a stone across the surface
leaving ripples of insecurities
and questions past.
The message is clear.

Birds on a wire, the murderous crows
commonly known as an omen of doom
silently staring and perching in rows

What might they be pondering, I cannot suppose,
their black, piercing eyes bore into my room
Birds on a wire, the murderous crows

Outside my window the flock slowly grows
unsettled, I watch them gather and loom
silently, staring and perching in rows.

The flapping of wings sings songs of sorrows
here with a message for me, I assume.
Birds on a wire, the murderous crows

My fear has ebbed of these wondrous fellows;
you see, we're not unalike I presume--
silently staring and perching in rows.

Pencil tapping, I stare out the window
perched on my chair as I sit in the gloom
Birds on a wire, the murderous crows,
silently staring and perching in rows.