Nine And A Half weeks clock stops I dangle. This is where I get off. Infatuation blooms only for a season. Happens every time, despite the lover. Differences same nesses chest hairs-tongues-lips. The dream explodes. I fill it helium high with hysterical hope. Then I sit on it and wait for my weight to press the air out. To leave us mangled party pieces. Pastel ribbons follow us down. Cassandra Dallett lives in Oakland, CA. She is currently unemployed, a sometime student, and a full time mama. She writes poetry and short stories of memoir. Cassandra has published in Cherry Bleeds, Street Spirit, Opium Poetry2.0, The Mylvia Street Journal, and The Beat Museum of San Francisco.