The clock ticked and the timer started
the day my eyes met yours
My soul saw you
and it sighed
it wondered who you were
and where you had been all my life
that day I didn't need any more miracles
my most important miracle stood right before me
It wore your shirt and smiled like you
Your hands made paper cranes
but never quite made it to a thousand
You said you wanted your wish to come true
and asked me what I wished for
I wished on every paper crane in existence
every broken wishbone
every shooting star
that time would let me keep you
but the hands of time were like your own
never quite making it to a thousand
so one night your words broke the silence
And the jumbled words tore us apart
I've been looking for that silence ever since
wishing for once that my life
was not a orchestra filled with you
that dreams were not interrupted by you
that thoughts were not overrun by you
wishing for once that silence
the silence before the storm
would return and perhaps
just maybe
bring you back

"I'll let you in on a Secret - I don't know when I'm joking."

We go to a fancy-type restaurant. A nice sit-down place. My baby blues are bottled on dark wood shelves and this isn't a detail that you plan to miscount for. Waiters in black ties and the plates are already on the tables and I know that you are relentless in their shining reflections.

"Wine and Dine my Sensibility."

My seventeen-year-old skin does not belong here. Follicles producing my scent are premature, to say the least. Cultivated romance looms beyond a horizon of pale-brown clouds littered with mid-highway makeouts - I expect you to paint me a brand-spanking-new Southwestern sky.

"Let's talk about You" -
A past-prime Adam's Apple says to me. Gnarled birds' nests perch atop my faintly skin-encased splinters - I flex in hopes of a migration, but not too
Far
Down
S
   o
       u
          t
                h

"They're coming."

Barely flinching teeth rattle around my peripheral and then You Are Gone! - or perhaps I am. We drown quickly in dim red-lighting, brick-laid air swallows and belches out a humidified and much sweatier you and I - and I'm getting turned on.

"You look nice today,"
they chant. Spay-legged spiders tumble out of dank eyesockets and nest somewhere deeeeeeeep in my brain tissue.
"Yellow looks good on a jealous, jealous girl-"
You laugh and call them back home.
Lock eyes with me as I impale upon a salad fork.

"Talk ***** to me."

Third-World Countries have been delicately dropped into what I thought were love poems to you. Vines grow around your mouth, soggy with the meal that I think is over. They chase each other through your teeth and I want to strangle myself with their slim and tender necks - like you wish I had. Dark green darlings giggle in my direction - such a Naive Little Girl!

"Ha."

Six lines later and I'm reeling you in.