i’ve got this little issue
that pops up now and then:
a flustered jack-in-the-box,
springs & colors clouding my straight lines
but to look at me, it’s all sailing fine

enter: you,
in the shirt i like
with your messy hair and your smile a knife
& i hold out my hand for the thousandth time
as the silver flashes, my palm afire
you draw blood with a kiss & promise me ice

oh i’ll never learn,
not with you in sight.

we buzz and blur, such socialites
but i’m half myself these humid nights
& when you leave a crowded room
i tighten up inside,
a jar of wings who can’t master flight,
a fluttering of fingertips & hearts tonight

& we are still young enough to play this game
so while i can, i’ll hate your quiet walkaway
the contour of your shoulders set against the falling sky
like a long-forgotten hero with a brooding tragic side

i’m (sadly) growing used to you this way, with leaving in your eyes
& for once i’ll stand my ground for hours after you leave my side
laughing (bells) and feigning sighs in heels that pinch & smiles that lie
so when he offers me his coat,
you have no right to be surprised.