The Highschool Box

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By Porchlight

Sitting there alone in the dark, troubled words spill from my mouth.

Peering out the windshield, studying the luminous porch light burning fierce.

Feeble words form on my tongue. A goodbye close at hand.

Glancing at the ticking clock, praying for it to stop.

Secretly wanting to take your hand, to feel it brush my face. Hoping I can settle for a short kiss.

Fear of misunderstanding rises from a shallow grave, shrieking in my mind.

How little I know you, but how much I understand you when I see the velvet rope holding us in a bind.

How calm my seas when you smile at me, all doubt is lost.

B.W. Harold

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