Clocks were ticking
Like silent movie static...

From my bedroom window
An overexposed blur
paused with the moon
It was you

As flesh merged our palms wed
We spoke in smiles
Our trench coats overlapped the night
As we boarded the carriage

Central Park
Always brought stares
But the achromatic of others
Was a sea of stills

Was it the beat in my chest
or the trot of the horse
that made your lips graze mine?

The roses you bestowed
A stage for spring
Illuminated gray eyes
my eyes

I declined your spectrum bouquet
Sunshine was a plastic ornament
Displayed beyond white fences.


You needed...
A congregation to applaud and weep
At your flower girl
You needed...
color


Not me.
Not silence stored behind second story shutters.

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