Your words cut through the air
And disrupt the silence
Of brown tangled hair
And paper plane pilots,
So I wrote you a note
On the back of your eyelids
Of stereotypes that would lead you to violence and sin.

Now you're tangled up in
My memory matrix
(Of chain smoke, tattoos,
A parking lot silence,
A glossy eyed touch,
Hints of the tragic,
And poems read aloud that you made so emphatic again).

And you know that I won't just let it go.

There's rain on your window, but nobody's home.