I could’ve kissed you on the Ferris Wheel,
Where we were close to holding
Hands with the sky.
Instead, you kissed me with the door open,
An empty hallway staring back,
But you liked James Bond movies,
And I liked to read.

On Halloween,
I wore red striped tights and I started
To cry and
You knew it was about you.
You held my hands,
But you liked to talk on the phone,
And I was always too tired.

In the summer, it was my birthday,
And we fought each other with eager lips and
Sunk into the green, green grass.
You rode your bike to my house with
Roses and a poem,
And I read it alone with your
Vase next to my quivering hand,
And you wrote about my eyes and my
Lips, because those were the things we
Had in common.
But I hardly knew what you liked,
Because I hardly knew what I liked.

In Mid-November,
You looked at me and your
Voice shook while you talked.
And we weren’t on the Ferris Wheel,
We were standing, (though I was falling),
In a field of red and blue people.
Your poem didn’t make sense anymore.
And when you turned,
And when I cried,
My hands were empty.