This silent question I asked
for answer endless explored
where’s love grains husked
beyond eyes quietly kept stored!

Is it on the bed we sleep
whose sheet bears marks of lust
or something that’s more deep
hidden neath her layer of crust!

What’s the place love she stores
ceaseless flowing from the start
veiled in her all daily chores
I erred to be the place called heart!

In the house it’s a small nook
here her love makes me dumb
standing mesmerized as she cooks
I wait from her hand love’s crumbs!

She was in love
With old books.
She was in love with
The way they smelled
As she flipped the pages
And felt the air hit her face.
She was in love with
The rough texture
Of the paper worn over time.
She was in love with
The yellowed tint of the pages
And the crumple of water spots.
She was in love with
The broken and tattered
Binding that crinkled
When you touched it.
But most of all,
She was in love with
The stories that not only
The words written in them held
But the stories behind each
Coffee stain and torn corner.
The idea that this book
Had connected with
So many other people
Enchanted her,
And she wondered if
Maybe she wasn't as
Strange and odd
As people told her.
And she thought that just
Maybe she wasn't as
Alone as she felt.

i thought.

you tasted like lust and you smelt like wintergreen and your hands were feathers and tickled my skin.


i know.

you tasted like skoal.
you smelt like smoke.
your hands felt like regret.

i missed that
tiny white pill
it stops
me from chattering.
i tremble without it
buzzing.

you might
perceive me
as still
but i am erratic.
shivering.
tiny white pill
stopping the

wide eyed
teary
expression.

it keeps me
kissing you
it keeps me
sane.
it lets me dance

but you
make me sing.

are you
a tiny
white pill?