I met a brown-eyed during ninth period in the library.

That is, if you consider stopping to stare,
wishing I had that fashionable scarf,
and overhearing his conversation with the librarian
anything short of a meeting.

This informal introduction ceased
all brain function.
I watched the map of his face;
the mountain of his nose,
the canyons of his eyes,
the dunes of his ears,
and finally, the sea of his lips,
a metronome counting out perfect time,
waves crashing and parting in a manner so graceful
poetry screamed from my heart
as my lungs filled with aches reminiscent of love.

My irises turned the exact shade of red as his turtleneck
while my head burst open as a flock of herons
poured out, desperately searching him for a location to land.

They would seize his heart
or soul
and place it in my welcoming palms,
and I would treasure it,
grow a garden in my body in its memory,
and place it right next to my brain
so that he'd never be far from my mind.

But the bell rang and my creatures evaded their target,
pecking at his perfect portrait.

His facial features disappeared before me,
falling into depressed puzzle pieces in need of attention.

Lying there, helpless, his brown eyes
pleaded
begged
hoped
cried useless tears.
I gazed down at the mess,
this exposed photo never getting a chance to develop,
turning as black as the blood that leaked out of every hole my birds punctured.

Moments ago I wanted to dance with this boy,
hipbone to hipbone,
cheek to cheek,
heart to brain to soul to love.

I walked to class, placing a hat on my head to hide my embarassed skull.

The destruction was left, my mistake strewn across the floor
for everyone to see.
His flowing mouth yelled words meant to cut me open for revenge,
but all I heard was,
"Even mistakes can be wonderful."