He provided natural, sober highs and flushed, beet red cheeks.
My lipstick was always unevenly placed as were my fears.
There was awkward dancing that felt sexy,
and soft pupils dilated with hands flailing.
He reminds me of the first bright leaf falling from a Fall sky.
Leaning on brittle hope, he manuevers around rooms and universes, all with
Elation in looking at one smile, and bubbling laughs kept secret
Over synchronized chemistry.
He is brash and blunt in his unabashed honesty,
And even in the way he dances off kilter, romantic and unhinged with a simple sway.
Sometimes the way he repeats a story forty times still feels like fresh paint.
I loved his burgundy sweater, and huggable overstretched arms but his
Anger was always boiling like a kettle,
His wise cracks revved up, a veneer that
Would never crumple.
The name calling was what the refs called unsportsmanlike.
I felt disintegrating chances,
and all the “no’s” and musical numbers attached…
There was a verified exile, lips trembling from unprovoked fears, and
Unobtainable goodbyes like I had imagined.
Left over were
The rehearsals that never came, the backdrop simply fading, and cast that called it quits.
Rosy cheeks and nasty comments combating wind sailing emotions.
No matter, it all entered a void.
Nothing would be forgotten.
The days flowed with his absence, but the memories felt like
Summer…peaceful and sunny and helpful in their making.