At the table, in the patterns of the wood
In the music, in the scratching of the broken stereo
and the way she turned around
as though she saw you looking
at her hair and how it fell from her shoulder
in that unexpected gust of spring time air

In the smog, the dust, the city air
the broken glass and the way the wood
seemed to yield to her body when she rested a shoulder
on the door frame, as she told you all your stereotypes
could not describe a hair on her head or how she caught you looking
when she turned around

In the way she said she'd been around
and watched you with that careless air
and you pretended you weren't looking
until she kissed you like you knew she would
with the music falling from your stereo
and her hair heavy on your shoulder

In the way the freckles on her shoulders
merged when she hung around
too long in the sun. In the beat from your stereo
and the way the dust waits thick in the summer air
and collects in places you aren't looking
the Wedgwood vase, the cracks of wood

In the way things happened like you knew they would
how she turned a shoulder
cracked a smile when she caught you looking
said you could hang around
if you liked, but she needed to take some air
and left you with your thoughts and your broken stereo

How you turned the volume on the stereo
which crackled like you knew it would
How she walked down the drive in the autumn air
and you watched her hair fall from her shoulders
hoping she would turn around
would catch you looking

In the broken stereo, the glass, the wood
her autumn hair, her shoulders
how she turned around when you weren't looking