It’s so strange finding/
yourself reading your private/
thoughts you didn’t write.
It’s so strange finding/
yourself reading your private/
thoughts you didn’t write.
Your past experience
Has always been
There is no rush.
There is little anticipation.
It is always just convenient.
It doesn’t mean anything.
You claim it is different
With us,
But when there is only silence
It sounds like
What you’ve told me about.
It feels the same
To me.
So I wonder
If the distance
And the blasé’
And the non-connection
Is really what you want,
Just like you always have.
And I wonder
If I should ask,
Or would that be pushy.
And I wonder
If I should just wait,
In silence,
And how long
it will be
Until I finally
Figure it out.
Until I finally
believe
and trust
with my heart,
my heart.
What if… ?
What if,
no matter what,
I can’t stand
the thought
of being without you
again?
What if,
no matter what,
I can’t bear
the loneliness
in my heart?
What if,
despite everything,
I can’t take
the emptiness
in my arms?
What if,
despite your reasoning,
I’d do anything
to see you again
sooner
rather than later?
What if
we could make it
happen?
What if …?
The space vacated/
when I clean my life of junk/
leaves room for wonder.
When you no longer have time
to receive my verse,
to accept the rhymes
that I reherse.
Yet you, still, are my muse
regardless of my heart’s folly,
or what I’ll use
(in terms of technology)
To deliver my lines
and my romance;
my feelings refined;
my desire to dance;
When you’ve put communication on the shelf,
I’ll find ways to write, and dance with myself.