my twenties in poetry

she could shift
from the steel gray of a thunderhead cloud
to the bluish-white of a lightning strike
in one half of an instant
and so could her eyes
and it thrilled me
and it powered us
and it doomed us
eventually

my fevered neurosis and
her stark raving madness
we shot sparks in our friction
like flint against a sharp angle
but just like in a forest
shoot enough sparks and
everything burns down
it burned down after a while
but we had that little while
most folks don’t get it ever
to live it a handful of years
that is more than the nothing
most of you people will get

and while I could never
trust her again
trust her madness again
and while I doubt that
she’s okay these days
I hope that she
is okay these days
nonetheless