A boy,

recalling the girl

he knew he loved

behind the walls,

and wishing he had enough time

to learn more about her.

A hundred cigarette dreams

and a thousand star-clustered poems

written on shattered glasses,

rosy paper planes,

bleeding arms,

everywhere—

The sidewalk they kissed late,

too late to realize the sun was early

for the bad.

A grey afternoon

gone like camphor;

Sweaty hours passed away

searching,

screaming and

saving the last

bits of her memories

that painted little bits

of her lily heart,

now far gone.

A lifetime among

a thousand stricken ones,

spent and passed

searching and screaming,

remembering and regretting,

loving and losing

her in the thousand poems

and hundred synthetic dreams,

while reading them

again and again.