.

I'm in a quiet library pondering
What would happen if I told her how I felt
I look around to see her wandering
If I tell her, she might make my heart melt
I don't want to go heart broken
I want my heart to sing
Love isn't as easy as finding a token
It's as hard as finding a ring

I drove you home thinking how about how much I did not want the night to end,
It was quiet, save for the ambient noise as we drove through the freeway,
I glanced over at you, your face, your thoughts,
a  mystery.
You said to me “Do you ever just listen to the silence?”
and then suddenly it was as if I was in a special place,
a special place I only knew of,
a secret chamber I retreat to,
and yet you so effortlessly walked into it,
perhaps you already knew of this place,
perhaps you already knew of the silence,
perhaps you had been there far before I had,
these thoughts raced through my  head,
I replied to you after a few seconds of reflection,
“yes, I do listen to the silence”

most of my cells linger in their near-kisses
with yours
the rest assume figures no one can detect
dancing carefully on new floors
and reciting those younger whims
keep no talents if love corrupts me
open my meanest October chest left
in the niche
whether you think romance allows
frailty, no one can dare determine
cast off neuroticisms, friend
and reach, trip, yearn
watch kindness' next trick

-c.j.

I steal a glance and see your
calloused fingers drumming a
careless rhythm on the table
that separates
me
from
you.

I tune my ears and hear your
eager lips pour out a volley  of
empty words into my hungry heart
that separates
me
from
you.

I need to run my hands down your
warm body so that I can ignore this
ache of loneliness
that separates
me
from
you.

When all around you saw darkness,
you gazed at the stars.

Everyone wants to paint their pain,
but only you, Vincent,
channeled that awful torment
into beauty
immaculate and sublime;
only you, dear Vincent
saw the beauty in the shoes, the bedroom, the weeds, the washers,
only you saw the beauty when it wasn't pretty.

To suffer is human.
but
to find ecstasy in the ordinary
and transform the banal into the magical
is something only you could do,
my dearest Vincent.

Merci;

I sit by the lake,
                                 on the lush green grass,
gently try to break
                                  my inner thoughts,
and silently assimilate
                                 chirping of birds,
rhythmic swaying of trees
                                 by the sweet breeze,
stare at the white cotton clouds
                                 spread on the chimerical blue
and try to soak the pure dew
                    till the morning remains new.