Mine

Follow her home

Up the stairs

Sit at her door

Go through her mail

Has she been cheating on you?

Other visitors come and knock

You first saw her in the park

Brown hair, long and loose, tilted up

Her purse; one heel hitting pavement faster than the other

Imperfect girl, eyes a little dull

Shaded by past misfortunes

And tomorrow's anticipation

I follow her to a gravesite on Tuesdays

She crouches, puts a rose to her heart

And lays it before him, devoted

There's probably a poem about him in her nightstand

One of these days I'll get to read it

She steps back, looks down at ther hand and cringes

I follow her home again

I sit on the bench outside as her shadow

Runs routines through the curtain

Her silhouette stirs me:

The slow trun of her torso

The curve of her calves

Familiar design, an understandible figure

I lie down on the bench waiting for sunrise