You were always becoming
traveling, pulsating, growing,
stretching yourself while you
searched for the eye of the storm.
You were always choosing to love
girls as if they were trees,
tapering their branches.
Three point five years later
and you are probably still
in love with your valiant ideals.
Some of them might even have her eyes
her ability to see blueness.
Pretty girls with pretty eyes
and steel razors tearing soft skins,
exposing their DNA to you
who could care neither less or more.
And you may not physically trespass.
You may not pluck their leaves
or purchase their weapons
but you are always choosing the stairs
as if they are your only choice.