Watermark

I wish it didn't matter if you thought of me.
That I wouldn't think of you:
coaxing.
begging.
yearning

for these things.

A girl like me
has dollhouse feelings-
I'll hang these grins
off of picture frames,
frozen fingers
treading water.

Glassy eyes
diffusing
these off-hand
remarks.
Bagging them,
dipped
in miniature
tea-cups:

soaking up silent
gazes.

(Drink me)

My fixation-
love's
watermark
(semi-solid)

suspended

between you&me

and
them.

But, my god,
your indent can sing.

That Idle Itch

Sometimes I worry that I'm not in love...
just comfortable.

I miss the chaos and confusion- the elation of the unknown.
New love.

And I hold it closely--- that "third one" between me and unity--- and I have to wonder if that is worth throwing away stability.

I'm a fool, I fall so easily back into you, with these waves breaking in my eyes--- lashes painting skies of other lovers. Possibilities that will never come to fruition, perfectly autonomous and lucid in the silent space between percentages.

It's much easier to forget you when you're

an insane villain
instead of human.