These bare walls whose peeling paint once felt the tremors, dips, quivers in your voice.

As my numb eyes and tired eyelids stare at them, they look
awfully lonely.

And this lull of loneliness seeps into these what I thought were  impervious pieces of myself.

Who knew lonely itself
could have such a
presence
in
the
e m p t y spaces of my chest & mind.

Could you perhaps kiss the snippets of pain

Here,                        
                          here,
There
Bye, please?

My soul cannot bear to let more pieces of itself to be lost.

So, let them get hopelessly tangled in the dips & cracks of your voice
saying
Go
                    od Bye.

Tear this little piece on the dotted line or carelessly,
a shard of you.
Any part.

It will still be a piece of stardust; a wisp of the infinite universe anyway.

Nothing quite the same, never quite this close in our ten fingertips.

Give it to him,
to her,
half-senselessly
&
half with all your heart.

Of course, with a pinch of apprehension, a tickle of doubt,
a sip of shyness.          

We will invariably be torn, broken, tugged at.
As, we are always guilty of doing more.

Never less.

There.
You're imperfectly human.

I keep spelling your name wrong.

Scribbles, cross-outs, dizzying cross-cross of ink adorn these pages.

The 'i,
the m's
i,
double ss

y, o & u.

My mind and soul clearly does not want to forget the
linger of your lips and fingertips
on their
broken & bruised
pieces.

Honey seeps off the tips of our sugar-dotted, pastry flaked fingers.

oh, your lips are
just
as
sweet
as
your soul.