elise.writer

my eyes look greener when i cry,

but only in the mirror.

i think i'm pretty when i cry,

but only when i'm alone.

i never wear waterproof mascara,

because i like the way the regular kind

and i remember i was really proud of it.
hung it up on my wall and everything when it made the newspaper.
a year ago today, i took the grey-brown frown of november
and molded it into metaphors with my own two hands. looking

Flash on, flash off.
Incapturable, immeasurable.
Maybe it won't be this way forever
but today, only we can see them. Just us.
Our little human secret.
White dots, bits of erasure
on a dark canvas.

When the sky is so quiet
and I have no looming thing
to do, I sit in the silence and wait
till the loon calls, slippery back
and white head popping up from
the annual lake, our annual lake,
twists its head left and right

You gave him the clouds, the sunsets, the stars.

You gave him your 3am wishes on mars.

You gave him 13 handwritten diary entries,

You gave him enough pen ink for centuries.

He gave you a rose, the 26th on December.