She brushes past unnoticed
and when he can no longer see her
it is her distinct scent that distracts him from his work.

What he thought was dead
is awake
like all the men at the Million Man March.

Pushing on his heart until
he thinks it will burst out of his chest
like the cork on the champagne bottle
that you shook up on New Years Eve.

**This poem was published in the 2010 edition of the Element: Online Literary Arts Journal.


Wax me some poetic love {or criticism I promise I can take it like a big kid}:

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