Falling

To think this all started because
Literature - who we both knew -
moderated our conversations, limited
our comments to books and poems,

until, gradually,
she turned aside and we
snuck away, exposing other thoughts
and flashing bits of bared soul.

By the time she turned back, she saw
only a flurry of verses and misunderstood it
to be an indifferent correspondence
delighting only in herself,

never guessing that poetry
blanketed our messages with
a light, glittering softness.
The night the Wind finally found me out,

tried to escort me back home,
I was sheltered in an alcove
of brick and stone and your words,
scattered across the screen like breadcrumbs

leading me into a dark forest
where I lose myself
- or do I find myself? -
but in any case I find you.

And instead of sugar plums dancing in my head,
I now see only you, with
your slight smile and warm eyes,
your confessions and compliments

performing a perfectly choreographed waltz.