FREED VERSE

One year is a hell of a time.
                                               (Even if it's really nine months.) 
Twelve moons for twelve lifetimes,
                                               each with you as its beating heart.
My body was healthy, my cheeks plum-red
                                                by the time you sat, waiting
for me at outside of Kerckhoff hall. 
                                                By the time it was funny the way
I drank in a stare. 
                                                Always knew how you were feeling. 


My smile was of diamonds,
                                                the same stone you were going to put on my finger. 
Diamonds turned to coal, 
                                                the pressure reversed,
getting farther from you the closer we got. 
                                                The farther I got from myself. 


One year is a hell of a time,
                                                much longer than the next 
(or last) 
                                                four.
Four years, it took that long! 
                                                To realize where my heart lies:
in your arms,
                                                not between the sheets. 


He rolled over when it was done,
                                                when he couldn't interlace his fingers with mine.
Strands of my hair are still on his pillow,
                                                but my heart still rests on your nightstand. 
Beating.


C. said I was afraid to get over you. 
                                                Maybe she's right, but all the same,
I'd rather be a coward than a tin man.