He's the poetry moving
from her sun tattoos
to the dimples that hold
together what she always
studied, as love.
[summer calls me to walk away
yet the thorns have already pierced
the memory I can't unfasten]
And he is real-
able to be found
when the past faces
her once more,
and she lives forever,
knowing from the clouds
that tag along-
he was her definite angel.
I'm not the one
wishing to be your eyes,
my only wish
is to never have opened
what I knew was the imprint
of your love on my
unprepared heart.
