i knew him in the way
that i knew not to speak
and never once mention
anything he'd care to
forget.

he thinks of himself
as the blanket of night
void of stars and planes
and eyes that droop
without sleep

without stopping to
blink, without
stopping at all.

he is the tongue that
has forgotten it's own
name

one that slithers along
the underside of my teeth
plotting his own downfall

he is the dance we do
when we are alone

sneaking in gentle
twists between moon-
beams; planting one
foot against the other
over a balance beam of
floorboards

he is sleep during
sunlight and the rush
of static cling
between my fingers.

he is the constant
flutter of insecurites,
the quiet urge that no-
thing good is to come
from him

because
leaving is never easy
when you are everything
and he'd rather have
been nothing at all.

08/24/2004

Author's Note: no sense can be made from someone who has no sense to begin with. i really miss summer and the way his hand was attached to mine. it still is, just more hesitantly this time.

Posted on 08/24/2004
Copyright © 2024 Lauren Pearl