I Walk The Way The Wind Blows

Right. Her silence speaks volumes and her words don't mean shit. This is what she means to the world. This is who she is. If my life were a hockey stick, she'd be the tape on the blade; giving it more control and keeping it from splintering into a thousand ruined pieces. That is how she rolls.
Her hair flows in the wind like it doesn't understand why it isn't in perpetual motion. Her hair waves at the blood running down my face like a child waves at a parade.
She receives disapproving looks from parents. She makes children smile. Old men look at her and remember Ava Gardner. Old women look at her and see the loose girl they had to keep away from their sweethearts. She walks by all and judges herself more harshly or more evenly that anyone else will ever.
The less you stress her, the quicker she'll call. The more you give her the more she'll take. The more you flatter her the less she wants. The more she needs the less she'll ask. She's invited into the VIP room, but drinks homemade gin with me in the janitor's closet.
This is who she is and the curiousness of her potential kiss leaves me as a mind without a soul. This is who she was and the clarity of her hued umbra leaves me as a body without a heart. This is who she will be and the leanness of her peerless legs leaves me as a boy without a mother.