So Rare, Her Smile

When I get home,
I will hide the guns.
(at this point the person becomes dependent
on a romantic interest due to the slightest bit of attention
from the person they are attracted to.)

My lover--
a
be damned and die young,
James Dean leftover
put-a-bird-on-it sort of soul--
used to talk for hours (four hours) about my teeth.
To anyone who would listen.

A girl in San Francisco told
me so.

This poem is not
about teeth.
(the anxious phase is considered the relational turning point)
It is about
running away.