leaves are rustling with your hair when you look through the window, vines curl up your back telling you stories of dissipating days and dreams,
you wait for him to say
to say
you wait
for things
not to happen
for a kiss that leads to no more
for hands to let go
for words to not be said
for teardrops to fall from the brink of her nose
for the night to end
for boredom and sleep
for every failure to rest and sink in
and never be forgotten
you wait for them to stay
to stay.
first draft of this poem had been recited here