Nonsense. Small Talk.

Are they but synonyms?

Components of the dance

Vital as they are

I cannot bring myself

To perform my part.

Oh, how I wish

For my friend

With whom knowing smiles

And secret codes

We could exchange.

A person with whom

I could feel like

I am no stranger

To a world that speaks

A different dialect.



Her hair is where it starts

It’s not very well kept, you can tell

Which is why you are amazed.

Why does it look so damned good?

Why do you feel like holding her close

And giving it a good, long whiff?

Her lipstick. Red. Crimson.

Bold, in defiance of what all

The other girls do.

Daring you to kiss them.

Daring you to want them.

Then those eyes.

So full of life.

And yet…


Almost jaded.

But you know better.

She has not given up on wonder,

On the notion

That the world is Good.

Wondrous. Magnificent.

Her clothes, just on the safe side of

The provocation/proper divide.

Oh, this you know

She has spent lots of time

Thinking and planning and putting on

So you talk to her.

You tell her your observations.

And you see the veneer of professionalism

Drop from her eyes

Just for a moment.

She is amazed,

Despite herself.

That’s when you know,

You have her.

But you don’t.

You don’t actually want her.

Not after what happened

With another

Because she reminds you

Of a girl that you once knew.

And so you grin. Smugly.

All the while your heart leaks blood again.