“Not again…”

he smiles and whispers;

inside he burns

and outside he says;

damn. not again!

he hugs her;

it’s all right;

I mean come on.

He loves her.

Something is coming,

She can feel it.

She knows because she’s seen it.

It’s happened before,

And it happened in her eyes.

Premonitions.

But she’s not going to stop it;

No one is.

(That’s some foreshadowing

For you.)

He kisses her;

Small.

Like how it’s suppose

To be; small.

Like her, small,

On-the-lips;

We’re-eight-years-old:

Small.

Small.

Everything small must grow.

She touches him;

In a peculiar way:

(She found out,)

And it does something.

Eyes change.

Voices on the inside;

They change.

Priorities change.

Feelings change.

Drives change.

Conscious change.

(Extra change,

clinking in your pocket

as you take off your jeans

and we’re oh-so-young

we’re like this;

it’s the middle of the

day and in the middle of

my young life and the middle

of the street (might as well)

this is not the right time

or the right place

but it feels like it.

But then again, it did before,

Too.

Why do I let this happen?

To me, when anyone could

walk down at any moment

and everyone is watching us

through little screen TV's?

(high school based,

reality-erased,

teenage lovers movies...)

No stop,

seen it before.

This has happened

one-too-many times.

So hand me back my shirt and conscience;

"thank-you."

and lets get back to talking.

Why do these things feel so good;

but are (really)

wrongwrongwrong...?

not completely true. i'm sure, i just like how the extra change fits.

sorry.

just the feeling, you know?

-lav