if i looked away to the trees, the earth--anything, really
i could refresh myself and regain the focus
to see properly upon returning my eyes skyward,
but i am listless.

i stare at the softened periwinkle-and-alabaster
rorschach spots blurring into each other like
blended oil pastels in the heavens, and i exhale
into the silence of the mosquito-specked air.

i waste far too much time trying not to think of you.

I enjoyed reading it, it's nice.

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She's gone.
She gave me a pen.
I gave her my heart,
she gave me a pen.

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Where's the meter?

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Not all poems need a meter.

I like this poem for the most part.  I don't like some of the adjectives you used, but I really love when poets continue a thought into the next line.

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last.fm
flickr

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Where's the meter?

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I concur with Areola.

Beautifully written.

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