Red

severed the ties
through the chapel
in the window
on the day
with the sun
and the heat
and the
solar
eclipse

you bought the special glasses for.

Red

in the tye dye
hung on
the line
outside of
the house
in the garden
through the flowers
growing in
mass quantities

just like you hoped they would

When you planted
them on the Saturday
before the Sunday
that brought
cynics to their knees
before the Pope
blessed his death

Before
tact became
a song inspiration

Before girls
crashed on highways
wearing
solar eclipse glasses
and sporting
yellow daffodils
from the garden
in their hair.

Red

was written
for the novel
that was going
to be dedicated
to you
on the first page
and the last
maybe even
the cover

I was going to have you pose for.

Red

will keep on trying
to lose it
and become
out of control
with the anorexia
nervosa
with
ana and mia
as the accomplices

to this self help step towards perfection.

Red

will ask me
to dance
later
and I might
give in
just to see
if you call
later
and ask

"why didn't you stop me from turning out this way?"

Isn't this the point?
To wait it out
and try to
get my tan
while you come
to terms
with my
ever so consistent
plea for

you to get down on one knee
and take a knife
to plunge deep
into your own heart?

To prove it
check the highway
for daffodils
and solar eclipse
glasses
that have your
intials engraved into
each petal
and lense

so maybe you can stop reading
between the lines for once
and stop staring at me
when I'm not looking

because I can feel it
when your eyes
regain compassion,
even if it's only
when you see me
in my second
of momentary
weightless
bliss.