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he put the purple hydrangeas
in her hair
smiling like she was a
fragment of a star,
barely realizing the fragment that
was her heart ─
or the vortex in her mind,
or even the glassy eyes
as she smiled back at him.
for a moment he really got her thinking,
if he were a forest fire or a hurricane ;
burning her down like hope.
she was certain then,
she rarely was ─ even after
a thousand almosts.
but night fell before she could
meet his eyes again,
and the throbbing in her chest returned
like a momentary numb scar.
he was gone.
just like the night jasmine would,
in a while.
and she sat there
tending to the hydrangeas ─
with the vanilla moon,
the obsidian sky and
the graveyard of words
that have died on her lips.
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