something of a memory of you stepping in front
of that over-sized, segmented window, and the sun
hitting your long yellow hair and transforming it into
a halo-mane, or
something. truth be stated, I lost it a little when you said
you wanted to get into realty. there is no romance there,
or between us for that matter
so why does it matter?
a pre-teen in a pink tank doing perfect cartwheels and handstands
while a sibling of ambiguous sex blithely waddles around in a diaper
and over-sized Batman tee,
copying movements as best as her little body can muster. in my head
you start talking about urban planning, or whatever the hell you called
if I had chased off the calves in the road, and you had seen, what,
would you at least entertain the thought of allowing me to talk to you
about kissing? but I ramble.
and you’re just one more sassy girl who wants nothing to do with me,
and my surprise is palpable, like pulp in orange juice,
or seeds in an overripe watermelon: it’s offensive in every way.
you were so sharp with me, and my mind is so off-kilter when
it comes to affection, I swore you wanted my company and more;
but maybe this shut-down is part of your mean flirtatious game.
a fool can dream, an idiot can wonder, I keep having nightmares.