there's poetry in her eyes.

'take dance steps
like trivial seances. we're eternal'

and she'd ignite lips- to the point of purpose
rocking her figure. it's all in the process of existing.
like we linger on treadmarks. with a tire princess
she's spinning silk goddesses. preludes
and post-dramatic euphemisms.
take guard.

and let your heart down. because
footsteps seem more sullen in the rain.
and you can't see the lack of tracks beside yours.
and she'd always break into monologue

'you.re two tones short of remembrance.
muddy eyelids with a lack of laughter. sweetheart.
I can feel your disasters.
I can feel
your'

she was one for suspense. like lightning bolts that break waves
in retrospect. when retrospect is better than hindsight
because her lips are a little more alabaster
when she's mouthing mementos to some fairytale ending
that only she knows.
weaving afterlife and singing gospel
but she still knows her blues;

'oh amiss.
we sing in off-key. trademark
for this day and age'
and I'd say

'baby, you're beautiful
and that's the least interesting
thing about you'


and she tossed saints like sockets to the stars
glanced at the fireworks stuck in explosion mode
and we danced.
in the footprints left in the rain.
when the skies lit up- and the drops hit the concrete
somewhat reminiscent of an orchestra
two steps too low to be called grand.

and when her lips met mine.
she stopped trembling in perfect unison
to the beat of discomfort.

'the best part about this moment
is that it's this moment.'


and sometimes eternity isn't so long.