The dark green throw rug tossed
carelessly across a highlyglossed wooden floor.
The bed made with obvious care,
each stuffed animalupright
leaning with its back against down pillows.
Papers andtextbooks strewn on the desk
with pictures of friends
knocked over intheir frames,
lost behind a charcoal-colored binder.
An armoire holdsthe silver stereo
with neon lights on its face
that show what station ison
and how many more decibels until I go deaf.
The closet door iscracked slightly,
just enough for me to peer in
to see a pair of skis anda spectrum
of hooded sweatshirts.
I sit in the center of the bed,
open up the book bag.
As I shuffle through his notes
he walks in,quietly closing the door behind him.
As his cautious steps move closer
I smell his cinnamon and musk cologne.
I collapse to thepillows.
He sits on the floor and rubs a spot
on the rug next to him,
encouraging me to dispense with my concentration
and take a break fromreality.
Seated next to this suitor
I feel numb, that each moment
is neither here nor there,
no beginning and no end.
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