Rain slash slithered down
the window pane,
as she sat and prayed for peace
and pride
and love.
Because that's what kisses are,
and what families are supposed to be.
The candles flickered,
but what is warmth?
She trailed love down her sun-
kissed forearms
because she didn't know what else to say.
The strangers in the room made her bloom
out into her wallflower
shell.
The rain kept flowing cool,
but what of warmth?
Orange sunsets to be enjoyed
quietly in solitude.
She didn't write so many poems,
but played with the rings that hung about
her fingers and her neck.
The world was poetry to her,
anyway.
And she watched the sunshine burst and fade.
Why bother, warmth?
The mail never came,
and she fell the days behind.
Mark an X on the calendar
in a pretty count down to the fall.
She wasn't really sad,
but she wasn't really happy
either.
