And Thereby She made things worse because She E-mailed me your formal photos [you went with James after all] I can not believe Mick let you out of the house Wearing that dress. (or lack therof) Your eyes twinkled at me Like faithless lillies; So taciturn, so piscean. Aside: {her voice, so decidedly Irish, her eyes so heartbreakingly green, her laugh hinting at the woman emerging, but still glowing from the child within} She wrote that you were Dancing to hot candles; Playing an orchestra. So chillingly delicious; My irrefragable snafued Little genius, you are. I snogged them all Just so you could say. Congratulations, you idiot. And everytime I called you, It was (always) like this *squeaking of a pikachu doll stabbing at my wetheavy little heart spiraling down the phone lines, through Belfast, swimming past startled fish, tunneling with baredesperate hands through mountains, piercing through smogcity Philippines, squirming into my little suburban existence, crisp and high on my earpiece-- all the while I am about to pass out from alcohol poisoning* That was the only time I could justify The phone bill to daddy. {I am just glad he never found out What a lesbian I am.} Crab to claw Through the silver flesh Of my existence. But of course, you will never know All this Is a shared moment.