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September 22, 2005 - 10:44 a.m.

the pregnant pause

you were the picture on wall
the poster girl for being, wanting and having
the girl I'd try on shirt after shirt for,
to seep up some idea of you.
absorbing racks of skate clothes and drinking Jones soda
trying to put aside the former image of me, in my own mind, while working my way into yours,
and proving to your friends that I wasn't Crystal, or Suzen.

next you were trying on shoes, and I tried you on in my mind,
as I tried not to fall all over myself
all over you
the streets of Toronto seemed the perfect place to make coincidence fate

I was spinning inside myself, trying to remember which way was up,
and told you that I'd seen you around
when all I meant was
"don't get me wrong,

if I'm acting so distracted,
I'm thinking about the fireworks,
that go off when you smile"
and it was that grin,
that I remember,
from the summer on your front lawn,
when I made you the fodder of angsty poems and you became the 'you' in every song on my parent's car stereo
as we bleached your hair, and we pretended not to stare
and I smoked your cigarettes, when all I was addicted to
was you

coming
when you called, falling out my bedroom window, 3 am Romeo moments,
sitting by the lake, swinging through park night air, deconstructing every thing you told me about other girls,
your suspended liscence and relishing the opportunity to be your knight in shining armour.

and I followed you with sunshine and adoring looks, from Canadian Tire
even when I had all the tools I needed,
to Mexicali Rosa's
where I drank all the margaritas you could feed me.
Taking what I could get.

Until you made it clear,
that was all I could have.
Except not.
because I should have known by then
that nothing was ever straight
forward with you.
and it was only on the backswing
that you took me up
cold lips under dark windows,
thin doors ajar,
water moving as abrubtly as your hands
startling in their intensity

we were star crossed, again and again
and our paths
intersect, like tangled limbs,
and still, in the mess we made, and
even though it's never quite right,
that was only the start,
the prelude to many sequels,
that are always headed, as surely
to that same end

and no matter where you go,
who you became and how many names or lives you wear,
your teeth will always bring me back, your lips in focus,
as I remember how fond I've always been
of the open ended questions
and the way you never felt the need to answer
cause talk,
as they say,
is cheap.
and you were always big on silence

 

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