The last 3 letters of the spring

missed by 2 
minutes of stillness
a connection train
between two
strangers
I said
I miss talking to you
You said, “Any plans for the weekend?”
I said
I am afraid of you 
You said “I am not that scary”

And then;
The metal box went rigid
It’s only a matter of time
at home, you smell my long black hair on your shampoo - to cut off is to remember 
the riddance

One of the strangers didn’t feel well; The conductor told us later
It's not quantum physics: emergencies happen; you couldn’t have fixed it
I know you tried, though, and
sometimes that's the reason why butterflies fly
They stick to the surface and never leave 
That one place or, 
that one person who is 
nothing but a sticky slice of melted murder, once in a while looking for mates, but never actually 
mating

Getting sick of my trains -
missed and calling me crazy later? 

There is grief, and then there is this
Nobody's dead, but I think I might be little by little: what if she's tiny and blonde?!
You’d miss my call if I ever tested the waters, still cold. 
You’d miss my silence if my absence meant something. 
I missed my golden boy, how could I not?
What if she’s true, or worse, what if she’s blonde?!