she asks him
do you believe

in magic?

in ghosts?

in angels?

and he thinks
he does

he'd rather talk about
how soft she is
and how lonely
he's been

he doesn't understand
the magnetism
that draws him
toward her

he doesn't understand
the poetry
that happens
in confused conversations

he doesn't understand
walls

or conflict
that advances and withdraws
with no warning

he can't see her blue skies
and doesn't know
that they bring real tears
that fade when
the rain comes

these things almost never
end well

maybe she should have asked
do you believe in me?