in the beginning there was a tank top with no face and you hiding behind a book trying to catch my eyes. the fumbling papers between us. the unlooked looks left me with just nervous winks and a stack of poems. how many times did the sweat try to tell me your secrets? the chalkboard was projecting the silent film we wish we had written. you warned me that once you were a fox in another life that feathers can fall from the sky if you hold your breath long enough. one by one you gathered all the words you could find to build me a dictionary. I never could appreciate clues or sunrises or orange juice. when I found out that your smile meant summer was just for us, it was too late, you were gone. so I left you notes on banana peels in the corner of every room we ever went to. I dreamt that you would find them. that you would swing from a vine or parachute down on a bridge we never knew existed. you’d find me there and tell me simply, there’s a chance someone misplaced our script. there’s a chance you and I can start from the very beginning.