Ancillary

Yesterday, you ran through my mind

as I ran through a field.

Simultaneously, my joints unhinged,

and retracted,

while your name ricocheted

from one side of my head

to the other.

My cleanly shaven, pale white legs

propelled me forward,

lifting one foot in the crisp air

while allowing the other to

forcefully pound the Earth,

slowly sending vibrations through

paper thin grass blades of

pine, jade, viridian,

teal, lime, harlequin,

et cetera.

Several of the blades swept

against my exposed ankles and sent

chills up my calves,

ascending toward my thighs

and sky

was the limit for my goose bumps,

which caused every inch of my body

to quiver.

As you lightly brushed

your finger tips against my frontal lobe,

you tampered with the remote

to my emotions.

I tripped over a rock,

distracted by the thought

of you.

In my clumsiness, you too

stumbled, and left a finger print

on one of the buttons of the remote.

My face was covered with dirt

and my elbow had a scrape.

I was not alone, though, in injury.

You bumped your head

and the letters of your name

jumbled up,

leaving me

in my own thoughts' dust.

I steadily regained my balance

and gathered my thoughts.

You were back in the centre,

as if on a treadmill,

running my system.

When my pace increased,

your image,

your name,

all of you became more

prominent.

The brown hair which matched

the bark on the trees I passed

on my way through the field,

and which enhanced the same dark colour

of your eyes,

never fully open -

literally or figuratively.

And your pristine facial structure,

equal to the sheer beauty

of the magnificence by which

I was encompassed.

I suddenly stopped to think about

ANYTHING

but you.

ANYTHING AT ALL.

Nothing.

A breeze caught onto my hair

and carried it as far as it could

before it was pulled back

by its attachment to me.

I wish the wind could have carried you

far

far

far away from my being.

But you didn't move.

You stayed constant to your place in my mind,

as you do

every day,

in my maze of a thought process.

My heart,

without an apparent reason,

pounded and

beat, pulsating and waiting

to rip through my sternum and

free itself from captivity.

And I looked down the opening

of my turquoise t-shirt,

and the beat showed through my skin.

I placed my hand over my chest

just in hopes to stop the outrageousness.

You banged just as hard against

the lining of my skull

in an attempt to keep my attention,

which gave me a throbbing headache

of, well, "epic proportions,"

so to speak.

When the pain and the obscurities were

unbearable,

I woke up.