Simply

Standing in the driveway's loud array of leaves

Jane kissed each callouse
Bashful and pleased.

Eleven

The first time Jane fell in love,
She was eleven years old.

It had been a grey Thanksgiving
and he was a boyfriend meeting sister's parents.

Side by side,
he picked at purpled cranberries
while she scratched distractedly at the slippered bruises on her knees.

"Shyness is nice" he offerred confidentially.
"Like a snowflake" she murmered back.

Wednesday's Ramble

(via Style Rookie)

I wonder if you see my eyes eating you up,
peeking over the edge of my green book to get a glimpse.

You are smiling bemusedly, I think you know I'm in love.

You call me 'cutie pie'
and I feel like a child,
but not in the good way.

In the way that begs you to see me the way I want to be seen,
not in the way that I am.

Presentation Day

You smiled at me
in your coat and tie
I dropped my coffee.

10

(via Sea of Shoes)

October;
even the leaves burn alive.

Friday Night (for MK)

We burrowed in tight and locked up all those keys.

I have blurry memories, but most of it is just conjecture.

After all, what are they worth now?

Not the nights of menthol in the back seat,
or the quiet days when I just wished to hear you sing.

Everything seems kissed with finality.

Yearning for more and everything and all at once; can't have it.

Most of all,
watching the light flicker in and out of your horse shoe eyes
begging it to stay.

None of it will be left,
come May
so why not accumalate every bruise?

In A Pile of Leaves and Ash

It is early October
too cold
for Summer's light.

Legs crossed Indian in the driveway
I sit
smoking myself warm.

Watching him
flicker;
my own last pocket star.

All the others have died
after three year time allotments
then a last season of glory.

He remains
huddled in my palm.

We have both been left.

After summer
in the cold.