Pacified, left on a street corner,
with December stillness in her eyes
Her mouth could not begin to contain
a mere cliché, its distaste for foolish
reminders of current surrounding speech
was strong as infrared,
though she'd say, "the other will speak in statistics
while all that spills from my mouth
are fallacious metaphors"

But he'd reply, "you intrigue me so,
with your blotted out sentences for scars,
and pretty oceans for eyes"
Looking for fragile lips to hold,
midnight and midday

-c.j.