Rnadom Thoughts

Helen wasn't of Troy. Troy was of her. One face all it takes to change the world. Change comes in sneezes. Sudden and violent. And then pretends to leave. While in nests in the crevices of our underwear drawers. Next to the stockings I never wore.

The table cradled us near enough. In limping glances that always chose their crayons without reading the labels. We colored inside the lines. And outside of them. Until the picture was gone.

It was random. It was calculated. Like all lovers are.

We'd pant out our vows in the lulls between the knowing. I waited for the echo to come resonate from those canyons. Our pale orchestra to make it more than just music.

But it never did.

I wasn't wrong. I don't believe that. But right. This close.

Is an ugly predicament.