Ode to Amanda

Wrote this last year.


At the crusted sight of my bare feet
He stops his lecture, stands straight, and asks me where
My shoes are; I can only blankly stare
With innocent eyes, and envision the street
Where minutes ago, before we donned our lies, we laughed indescreet
"Guess what A. just did?" she shakes her head, a mare
That has already begun ascending the spiral stair
And now cannot choose between death and retreat.
"'Cid," she giggled, and my smile was wet with tears
Not yet shed. I shiver. "You're blue, man!"
--She'd said, touching my hair with trembling fingers.
I am sure that my eyes still show my fear,
And that she in some way did understand;
--But it is deception to believe that more than the smoky color lingers.