sure, you saw the lines
of medical repair
like echoes of a knife
etched across her back;
but the scars upon her heart -
cutting deep, obscured from view -
did you ask her about those?

twenty, ten, or five - or even
a single lonesome year from now
she could - with truthful laugh, could claim,
"he? he never knew me."

the hair she tears in agony
from her dreaming head
to paint pictures on the wall
and she says, "look, look.
tell me what you see."
"a mess. it's revolting."
and the strands she swirls away,
in the garbage, down the drain -
like everything. she thought
you'd see the difference.
but no one ever does.

her body, greedy monster -
she gave it what it wants
and felt content. but
they were dreams, after all -
she thought of you today,
imagined you ignored her
and she skipped and jumped
and leapt into the sky.
it was foolish - she
didn't think you'd care, or ever had.

and maybe she was right.

did you fall, lonely
and catch her going down?
she has wings enough for one
and would gladly give them up
to watch you sail away
across her purple sky.
but she tenderly forgives you
for not loving her. it's
too hard, for anyone - she knows.

maybe you thought she was pretty.
it happened rather rarely, after all.
she carried you like a best friend
on her back through the ocean
as you drifted from the sandy bar,
elated. she didn't drink,
but she was still smiling.

you threw kisses on her
like lumps of snow -
pure white, but warmer, somehow.
but the dark scared her away.
and you cursed yourself.
but her hand was on your knee again -
she felt bad, but couldn't tell you.
and the stars were always pretty
as you pressed yourself against her
and she listened nervously
for any footsteps to approach.

it was a rough two weeks.
you said goodbye, but didn't mean it.
she was nervous again, too.
but it was casual, and you
waved her off, indifferently.

you never told her of
your concept of eternity.
what a pity.

TMK 29.7.2007