Remembering
Beautiful days;
So perfectly imperfect.
Pomegranate stains
On white fabric.
Digging for worms,
The smell of earth.
Rug burned knees,
Sliding fast on wet grass.
Sticky, melted ice cream;
Vanilla bean and sherbet drip.
Sunburned skin so angry,
Don't touch and irritate it.
Buried messages in bottles,
Thinking one day someone
Would find them.

I saw her first across the bowling alley,
Laughing at her own gutter ball.
She flipped her long black hair
Over her shoulder;
She wore a golden cross necklace
That bounced lazily against her
Beautiful olive colored skin.
Lady Gaga blaring from the speakers
Prompted her to dance back to her friends,
Who smile at her antics.
All of a sudden, she looks over at me, and
I try to pretend I wasn’t staring,
But it’s too late.
She smiles shyly, without her teeth,
Just a slight turn of her pink lips,
And her cheeks redden slightly.
Whatever manliness I still had in me
Melted when I saw her smile.
I smile back in what I think is a cute way.
My friends cries break thought my thoughts,
“It’s your turn!”  “Go already!”
Yet I can’t break my eyes off of her.
She goes to her friends and sits down,
Sips her Coke quietly.
“Go!”
I look at the clock.
I’ve wasted five minutes of the game.
I blame the girl in Lane 7.

She
refuses
To reside
Inside
anyone’s
Solace
Especially
her own
She’s a
rare rose
With
the thorns
Still attached
She walks
a fine line
Somewhere
Along the line
Between pain
And fine wine
She always
found the time
And
Courage
To shine