Quietly rocking
On the rusty swingset
Arched ever so slightly under our weight

Talking lightly
Of things so vague
Yet our minds race to manufacture new topics

Just as meaningless as the last four.

Five.

Six.

The tension mounts between us now
Anger floods our veins
And our flushed faces turn cold

Tears hover in the creases of your eyelids.

You rave passionately
And I object with my eyes
Squinted at the Sun

(Or wincing at your stubborn insistence?)

Vibrant statements
But your arguments are flawed
They are the same every time.

But I must give credit
Where credit is due:
You have a knack
For twisting your own words.

04/17/2005