xmas
...he thinks numbers make you perfect...

Your Car

I remember your smile

your car with one stripe

the way I saw you peering inside it

I remember the harsh words

frustration, pure frustration.

No more.

I sometimes see that pointy eyed boy,

wiser, and holding hands with that

girl still standing a mile apart.

I think of how we would’ve laughed,

joking about how ridiculous the sight is,

marveling at the pettiness of it all.

Now I see you crack a smile.

Yes Sylvia, it is fatal.

At that moment a death was experienced

between the both of us.

Now we are ridiculous.

Christmas Eve Serenade

Cigarette butts scattered across

the driveway mock me,

tell me tales of your brand new

birthday suit you,

of how he stole my friendship,

you-his, while

I can only dance with burnt out

Christmas lights, melted snowmen and

cliched memories.

.

I can fling myself on the concrete

to reread washed away words,

scraping my dead cells on the

coarse surface,

ripping off the flesh of shameful icons,

something you only saw once- in

A stormy night heavy in the distance.

Through thick air I had broken the

finish line,

I saw the you those big blues had

tried so hard to erase.

Oh, but cigarette butts forget.

It is only the virginal you who remembers.

          structured

         silence