Constellations light up the inky sky. Each with a story of their own to tell. All connected through seeming specks. What is written in the stars is as old as time. So how can I doubt that which shines as the story of us unfurls like vines.

I cannot compose brilliant poems, sonnets, or verses,

and I cannot speak to you in Latin or Greek;

I cannot move you with any language made up by man.

Love is the only only language I could touch you with

If you only knew how much I could love you.

If you knew I love you;

If I were brave enough to tell you at all.

I live in the past
but with you,
I feel present

I  took  my wrist  and  cut  myself,
just  to  open  up  to  you.
And you  watched  my blood  as  it  touched  the ground.
I  waited for  you  to  move from the miles  you  put between us.
I  hoped that  you would come help  me close my wound.
Instead,  you  pretended  as  if  you  did not see  me.
And you turned around and walked   in the opposite direction.
Adding more distance  between  us.

Black Lilacs
blooming -

a blossoming
of grief -

dark fallen pollen
on the breeze -

I can see it falling
all around me -

there on the wall
for us to see -

April will be
the cruelest of them all.