Read My Eyes
We first met in the hallways of guitars and pianos that obstructed my vision of you.
I strutted, sported, mocked a models catwalk moves, stumbling,
bringing sexy back…the king of kings…too sexy for my shirt…
I stopped, shocked at the room of one hour boredom, coolly leaning,
to my realization, on the brown flapping trash can. I hate them.
I had the spotlight, moonwalking and crouch grabbing my way into the comfortable, cold steel chair and sat down in one swift move into a I don’t care pose.
My eyes opened wide, sweat pouring from my impenetrable calm visage.
I slowly but smoothly, edged out of my gum ridden, graffiti written, time bitten chair, headed back for that trash can with the flapping mouth, mocking me, as I bent down
to get back my awesome book bag. I proceeded back into the room,
kicking the trash can down.
As I checked my bag of valuable worn gym clothes for any signs of theft,
I glanced up walking, holding my shorts, eyes unwilling to look away,
there you were,
sunlight spilling from your eyes,
heavens choir crying as the quaking of earth and sky
brought down my shoulders causing my
lips to dance and quiver
as they get tongue tied from
licking my lips,
echoed from my, socially less inept, inner self.
I quickly broke our eye relationship.
I tripped over ugly bags and
way back to my corner.
In the span of but an hour,
I managed to become some ones lover,
other half, thief, stalker, and finally, at the end of the hour,
find myself in a drunken mess, drowning in my own pool of
overdramatic tears of misery and heartbreak,
all with an unwavering, bored stance,
staring as the clock ticked me to freedom.
I bolted, zigzagging my way past
just quick enough to reach the rumbling train that skips this stop. I hate that.
As I start to throw my shoes at the train,
there she was,
hogging the spotlight as the train
whistled a melody of
she’s just too good to be…with you…
I hate the train.
Our eyes connected.
The sting caused my eyes to,
I built up the courage, one blink at a time,
said, in my best impression of Barry White,
How you doinn girl…?
Which came out like a pre-puberty, squeaky boy.
I quickly turned away
and from that day,
for the many days when we’d stand there,
constantly giving me a chance to reenact
my stupidity, I would never be able to break out
you had me at hello…
because I never got to hear you say hello.
Never got to profess, express, confess to you,
So here goes,
“It was love at first sight,
I thought it wasn’t real,
oh, my love,
I couldn’t get enough of your love,
I hunger for your touch.”
As I stared into your eyes,
I realized, my eyes, were blinking,
flickering, scintillating in morse code,
How you doinn…?