Her piano key fingers lay like corners of bent pages of
A favorite book on the back of the chair. I transfixed
My stare—her golden bangs brushing into her eyes,
Painting them a mysterious blue, and yet I wondered—
Her eyes lingering—my singing heart…
“how can she look at you?”
Was how my heart responded—curiously hurt. How can
She not see beauty, how can she not see me? How
And how and how do I pretend to not see?

I pushed, fingers like drift wood and sand, threading
Through my dark hair—“mahogany”—I felt her
Whisper brush my ear from the past, unlocked door
Of a memory. And they are the only way I know,
Fleeting, vanishing upon a second thought. It hurts
To be forgot.