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As far as parties go, I guess I was a bore. But I enjoyed watching you get high with the other 20 somethings in front of the cemetery.

Your hair blended well with the Spanish moss that hung from the trees. I couldn't look away...



Your lips have an uncertainty to them when you're unsure of what you should do next; if I had normal feelings of lust, I think I'd want to bite them- maybe gently at first, to soothe your anxious soul.

" another hit?" You only nodded, took the joint, inhaled, stopped; your sad blues made contact with me. You exhaled then, letting the smoke slip into your nostrils.



I left when you lifted your fingers, beckoning me.

There are moments of passing that I find the will to make a sigh for you.

The macanics of a human sigh intrigue me, always, the heave of breast bone and flutter of lashes-- how romanic they are, I think, more so than us.

For they love so quickly and hurt for so long. Like wounded little mammals that mutter sweet nothings in birdspeak.



I see the halo of gold when you float through the crowd, while I muse the topic of sighs. You have a lost look in your eyes, scanning faces,movement. Always thinking and worrying. I wonder if you breathe even less than me these days.