•Her•

She is a thousand miles from here, as the bird flies,
But I don't know any bird that flies from here to there,
See, if I did, I'd string myself to a flock of them & leave right now,,
I'm kidding-
She knows if I wanted, I would
Catch the train,
Or take the bus,
Or grab a taxi
& find her in her neighbourhood,
If I wanted, she knows I could,
If she wanted,,
Here's a selfish thought-
My favourite part of her body is her ears,
Not because they're pretty, which they are,
But because when I let my soul leave,
When I let my words carry it through the air, she hears me,
Like any drug worthwhile, she is a pain reliever,
One time prescription, no refills.
If they bottled her, I'm not sure what they'd name her,
But I'm pretty sure the back label would read :
''Warning-
Contains high concentrations of the stuff that lifts your soul to the clouds,
Keep out of reach of anyone who can't handle the fall.''
If it were up to her, the world would have no sound,
Except for her own whisper & saltwater shifting across the ocean floor,
She has a talent for sitting on park benches & ignoring the world,
It is absolutely irresistable how careless she is with her beauty,
When she is to blame for so many acres of flowers & grains of sand,
So many windows that look out on courtyards,
On the hilltop, framed by dusk grains, her hair hangs to the grass
& there, she shakes out the memories,
She likes the South of things, the feet & ground of things,
Shadows carving into darkness like palms,
& the feeling of being unsure of something at twilight..

Her hair drifts around me gently, like a summer breeze,
Her eyes gaze upon me, soft as satin sheets,
& her sweet scent envelopes me & I breathe her in,
In her persuasive web, I am entangled, watching her every movement,
Graceful, delicate, like a dandelion in the wind,
& then I close my eyes,
Letting her body's light imprint the dark depths of my soul,
As her outline develops, it is a vision like no other,
But as the vision begins to fade, a realization strikes me,
When I open my eyes, I will see her,
But it is not until I open my mind that I will begin to know her,
& suddenly she is more than I imagined,
She is so much more, so wonderfully interesting,
She is the kind of girl that people read books about,
She is delightfully chaotic, a beautiful mess,
Loving her is a splendid adventure,
When she speaks, she shares her inside, that which I could not see,
& this humbled boy ignites,
For now, I understand,
I truly know what it means to be in love,
I feel her essence, her soul radiating,
Without thinking twice & with haste,
I fly into her light..

Write.
Those are her instructions,
As if I came equipped with an arsenal ideas desperately seeking to be materialized on paper,
But up until this point, I have lived a fairly normal life,
Despite the speckles of quick-tempered rebellion-laced mistakes,
I didn't know if it was the right time to feel the way I did,
Or if it was the right time to tell her,
But I went ahead & did anyway,
I told her I loved her-
She said it was too soon & think it over but I ended up over-thinking,
But still, despite my aptness for the occassional ''passable for decent'' poetry,
I simply had no words to describe her kind,
The kind I want to drown inside of,
The kind that would leave me bereft of descriptions should I ever be asked to put it into words,
She rocked me without a single fire warning
& all she could say was ''Write.''
I have no story to tell, I love her is all,
But I don't write when I'm in love,
So would she ever grasp the significance of a blank page??