Mon Vert

  Frightened she was, her friends laughed as they caught glimpse of her widened eyes and forming dimples  as her cheeks became swollen and full Momentum in its slowest pace Is as pronounced as the pulse Felt inside my ears In the averting gaze To fiddle inside a thought The total outsider to their jokes I gaze outside the window and feel The heat to take me away So it could hurt me Drench me in sweat  That I would say  "It is too hot." Eager to get the pretty girl To appreciate the boring old whisper Led by the still air As I watch myself fade And get absorbed by their Secret gazes Trying to capture The other things left on her face Picking up on her little habits Just like a child Trying not to get caught.

  it is as though The pages are drawn to me More this time As I feel the cold In my toes The coolness In my gut As my eyes  Burn swell The letters begin to crumble As I race its ruin  And the light harsher Disagreeable  I bleed  writing  Comprehensive Critical Significant But I am distracted There is no pain I only dream of the  Bird waiting for me  Outside the window.

  For others Time may be longer 70 years at a time Yearly Monthly But as the seconds  clink in each pace Its own unique rhythm  We find out That when Our fingertips touch  In some Palms felt  in some Our eyes hold Some of us are more eager  Making our own seconds Our minutes There is no such thing you said The critic you are To lie to me To please me.

  as I could see The peak of ur head sneakily trying to  Catch The secrets of the underworld The flowers begin to sink So is the earth  Deep  its roots where the bells toll And prayers are said I cannot step in its gates Just yet I will stay here  adoring the skies as the last bird soars To take hide Its heart pulsing So is mine as we both await To be captured we run We fly The stars blink to lose the seconds That might be our end our feet is sore your feathers ruffled Fettered by the silence Our warmth syncing So are our eyes  what are we waiting for The truth?

  The nights wait As the rooms are lit And the windows  Open  That lead to our homes and the beds half-made As we listen  To the conditions  That make us Live That bore us That soon we touch again The Chipped paints Of our tables the cracks in its edges All the empty spaces To relive the noon Where I listened To the heart That subtly  Told me reason.