no one else's.

he
when he made the world turn
slowly, and
managed to push away
all her petty thoughts of hatred
he held her fragile hands
like teardrops, or
        weapons
and brushed them far away
from tracing lonely scars

tall
the grass they’d lose themselves in and
find each other again, only to
realise
that the other was different,
slightly changed, because
too many secrets can be hiding
in a field of wheat

bright
as the indigo outlaws they watched
dazzling, the sky, or another word
they never quite remembered
because there were more important
things to do
boats to catch
hearts to juice
beneath almond-tasting fireworks
bending quietly above picnic blankets

where
always a question of character
anyplace, just
far away
lady’s choice, see.
but Nowhere doesn’t quite make sense
and who could decide
between the boy with the
fireworks,
and her secret teardrop scars?