His eyes
Pressed into her with the pull of polarity
A haunting indication of an impossibility too beautiful to protest
He looks
With a longing he has hidden deep in his sock drawer
So no one can tell him he’s wrong or irrational
A locket only to be worn round his pulsating mind’s mannequin
But she wears on her sleeve what he’s trying to leave
And dressed like a nightingale
In feathers so free
Her eyes with a fire that waves like the sea
Closer they crawl
Past night’s shadowed humans getting drunk off doubt and betting on beauty
Past the scratches on stools once straddled by sorrow
And Isolation, his lover
Who lost her last words somewhere under the covers
That they shook out in morning
To shake off the mourning
But the streets crave a sweep
For the ashes are thick and catch on their tongue
Reminding the runaways to stop feeling young
And as they both draw so near
With the friction of fear
And the whip of a wish
And a harsh hit of hope
For the call of a kiss
Her hairs stand on stilts at the nape of her neck
An impatient frenzy that’s waiting on deck
But the lights left her lonely
A bubble-bruised brain
And he left her only
The promise of pain
As he grabbed another hand and rushed out the door
She smiled a sadness that left her lips sore
And gathered her hollows
And the last of her trust
And took to the streets with the ashes and dust