another silent goodnight

inside of his boring girl
he is a tourist

the bored boy
lacks to see her luster

he takes a trip, twice a week
not ever really seeing her

she thinks of him always
and fumbles inwardly with exhaustion

like a thinly sliced apple
she feels her core disregarded

she will give up soon enough
no longer able to speak

when a love cannot be given words
things do become boring

mascara

the rule is
once your mascara is on, there should be no more crying
thickly spread, lash by lash
tears are for girls, and i am a woman
gracefully girlish
womanly eyes
i stare like ice, icicle eyes
blinking too often
holding back the rush
and the sigh from wine soaked lips
red and cracked, chapped from the cold
and the forgotten kisses