Pentameter

The back of my high heel
taps a rhythm on the
leg of the bench where
I sit,
legs crossed,
biting dents in my fingertips.

One to ten, over and over
in my head.
(Because your eyes are nothing like the sun.)
It's almost as if he knew
you
and me, and
I wish the words are
mine as they
trail paths over my throat
and across my shoulders.

Pretender, so sweet, and
my breath catches between
my teeth and tangles with
the words.
(Because I love to hear you speak.)
Wish I could trap
these seconds in
the chambers of my
pounding heart.

Regretful sighs rip themselves
free of my chest as
I stare after you one more time,
consider
trying to catch you,
but not bothering.
(For when you walk,
you tread on the ground)
But you still move
a bit too quickly for me.

I forget so quickly. I stumble
over myself, trying
to keep the love inside
where it cannot
do damage.
You blink in my direction,
once, I wish
I had words as sweet as a
sonnet to explain
what those eyes mean.
(Darling, your eyes are nothing like the sun.)