my desire for you is like a dead language
it aches that you can't understand it
and I can't speak it.

- A Secret

Same songs,
Different tunes.
Same nights,
Different moons.
Same stories,
Different endings.
Same mornings,
Different beginninng's.

I write so you will answer me.
I see you sit, your confusion
curled like hair on a new poodle.

I write to touch your face with
my thoughts.  Know that my
fingers wrap around your sorrows.

I offer my hand in reply to
your silence.  I wait for

you
to touch

me.

Here I am.  I write words
in the wind

which brushes

by you.


Caroline Shank