Everyone out. She’s in.
Her signature walk, a dancer’s.
Her asymptotic look in the elevator,
grazing my face like a bullet.
Saw her in red today. On my floor,
sitting surrounded by plants, facing me.
Fully in control, I stared back boldly.
She will do that. Soon she will lay
the foundations for a heartbreak,
and, yes, spring’s coming, so, for a grave too.
This time I stand back,
switching up, leaning against the pillars
she’s planting in my heart.
Not rushing in, no no. Not messaging, nah.
Not even writing a poem, no way.
Just shooting pillars at the traffic stops.