Permanent

 Upon the altar of windcrash I dreamt you into my future. You were there when I left my job to train a new hire blessed by the notes I left, when for some godforsaken reason my predecessors wouldn't. I left them for you, innocent one, to guide you as clearly as possible through the wickets of confusion, that you might be saved from failure or at least not have to worry about it. You were there across the street blowing your driveway when the wind lifted your dress through the wretched fold when I fell into your spell on the school bus to drown where the rolling suicide melted my soul into yours. I swear you could read my mind and you teased me then and there like you did in class long ago, knowing I would want it eventually, that I always would, even after telling you I was married. The smile is all that remained, that all-knowing smile you spread over my regret to scream through adolescent barb wire that stung so bad I cut my wrists to bleed out the months I waited to gain enough courage to talk to you. The time can't be given back, it can only be found in sorrowful vaults of love deep in the abyss where my depression echoed off the trenches of your skin that sank me stupid beyond the bands of the rainbow framing your sunlit hair. It's so quiet here, sinking through the layers you weaved for me, passing through like the clouds of the day kissing the sun-sparked sky off the candy pane of your face. Beauty is blind, but that doesn't mean I couldn't see you and me together on a hot summer day being friendly neighbors, forbidden from having each other, hiding the biological truth so desperately under a burden of formality.