Notes

It is mostly gone

my expertise with a firearm

inside my heart rang like a siren

the fire alarms.

A girl with pretty brown eyes

is now drawn

graffiti-ed on the walls by a copycat artist

until dawn.

When the new day arrives

and my watery eyes look up at the daunting yellow sun

I begin to weep at how the tragedy

begun.

With the sidewalks closed late

I arrived to work

I suspected I would see you sitting at your desk as usual

.... but you left a note:

"I have given up the thought

of giving us a chance.

Instead, i will embrace a happier enchantment,

and give you a kiss while I stop you from holding my hand."

What did it mean--

  could I have a clue?

My fingers tied my hair in knots

not knowing what to do.

So in the night while we both waited in the restaurant

for a seat

she grabbed my gray overcoat all nice and neat

and planted her lips on my lips so unexpectedly sweet.

Not knowing where to put our hands

we wrestled with each others fingers for a year

No. It was two weeks.  No. Two minutes.

  The rest was fear and lack of sleep.

Where the tongue went

and how it entered there

all warm and soft and traveling with care

is a mystery of the heart who does not care.

An as the war came to an end

I saw that I had lost my gun

for those who did not see it, it was my tongue

that I would forever not retrieve, okay.. goodbye.. so long.

That girl has kept her promise on my lips

and as for the final placement of my hands by her hands

on her hips--

  who the hell does she think she is?