Asked me what was
so special about Angélica.
    -Like her hair.
    So black, midnight
    mischief and pleasure,
    mystery and rest.

Think you grumbled
"Mexicans ain't good
for nothing," as
I shot you a look
hoping it would
for once, kill -
   we're not in a
     metaverse, sadly.

You kept breathing
while I kept my loathing
in tact. You licked your
dry lips, I wondered how
I repeatedly kissed them,
cracks fault-lining worse than
the ones lining up in Indonesia.

     Rallying with the
     protesters in Tibet,
     some African country's
     civil unrest -

Twirled auburn hair around
your index and middle finger,
I thought of a curse and couldn't
bring myself to remember
why I agreed to meet up with you.
We're old history, my future doesn't
weigh with your opinion - why do
I pretend to care?

Dust clouds started with
an abrupt kick-start of a rock,
going no distance from your attempt,
saw disgust in the sky, I watched a
lizard pass by, and my interest
was captivated momentarily.
   I think you attempted
   to kick a stone at him,
   managed to produce
   more dust - I grimaced.

     Watching Bear Stern
     stocks fall,
     high-school shooter in
     a free-for-all -
       places more delightful
       than here.

Mind in shambles,
why do I care what you think
of her?
Why do I even begin to pretend
to care?
     Am I pretending?

The blood seeps from his
head, you finally knock
the innocent amphibian dead,
and I again question myself.
"She's not worth it."
you mutter before stuttering away.

Watch your form I once praised
leave in rays of demonic disgust and
I'm pressed trying to figure out
what pressed me to once say,
"I love you".