though her face was inscrutable, like a cloudy sky,
deceptively calm she was, in her grief.
at the poet's funeral his girl didn't sob or even flinch,
true love in his life was his poetry, it was evident,
"If love is passionate, beyond all  limits like his
it would be fulfilled only in death" she said and fell mute.
when her words gushed out like blood from a ****,
they missed the firmness in her voice, that ringed aloud,
it pointed to this:  her crazy love for her lover , leaves her no choice.

And it was the first time,
that kiss, that Christmas.

You and she were walking
just behind the other members
of the church choir, carol singing,
the parson, conducting the members,
he in overcoat, hat on, scarf
against the cold, the evening air.

And she said, softly, so only
you could hear, softer than
the snow that threatened to fall,
I think I love you.

You, looking at her there,
standing inches away,
her breath high-lighted
in the light of moon
and the houses near by,
said, I love you, too.  

Words, spread, as if
on free rein, like little children
off on some adventure,
some new game,
came quick and fast.

Then, she leaned in,
and kissed your lips,
pressed them so gently
on yours. So gently
that it seemed they met
yet seemed not to
in same breath.

You embraced her,
arms about her,
drawing her nearer,
her body, into yours,
warmth and warmth,
like two planets colliding,
not in crash, but as if
merged, entwined, as if one.

The sound of some carol
being sang breathed
on the air, floated there,
held in balance
by the gentle wind.

You and she parted lips
and bodies, but held hands,
a new love had been born,
a new fire started, feeling
erupted along the strings
of nerves, set mind on fire
with a new, unknown, never
before experienced,
out of this world desire.

At five am this morning
I closed my door, quiet and slow, and
Crept out into the blackness.
It was silent.
Dead silent.
The stoplights were throwing velvety pools of light on the street
And I was drawn to the center of it
I placed my strides between the two yellow lines
And I started walking.
I just went.
I can't say whether five minutes passed, or ten, or twenty,
But eventually I left the road and doubled back
To the little bridge where you first kissed me.
And I sat there in the dark
With my legs dangling over a galaxy of reflected stars
Meteors with tails of mirrored streetlight,
Gold and shimmering,
A shadow cut-out of a person set in a silhouette of black water against a splash of light.
I lay my cheek on the cold metal of the rail,
And let it all seep into me-
The night, the cold, the glow of the stars.
My fingers brushed a little husk at the base of it
And I recognized the flower I'd placed there
Last time I'd walked across that bridge.
I'd been late. Late by a lot. Hurrying.
Rushing.
And I thought, Mikaila you are stupid for stopping to pick this flower.
But I did it anyway.
I always do it.
Every single time I walk over that bridge,
No matter who with,
I pick a flower
And set it at the base of that railing
In the spot where you kissed me.
I never give any explanation.
I just put one there, every time.
The tiny delicate thing crumbled at my touch
And the dust was taken by the wind across the shining water.
There I stayed for a long, long time,
And eventually I lay back and looked up at the stars.
There is a very bright one out this month,
A planet, somebody told me.
It was directly above me, glowing with cold, clear light,
And I told it
That I love you
And just then one of the tiny stars right by it
Dove across the universe
And landed in the lake at my feet.