We leave parts of us in the words we write
For our present selves to live and believe in
For our future selves to wonder
For our past selves to be remembered

-- Isn't that beautiful?

Writing lines like conversations
That live on as long as they're read
Never washed away from the imprints of history
The greatest things left unsaid

Reading minds from long ago
A place no one else will know
But see, in writing you get to be
Yesterday, today, tomorrow and forever

-- A legacy.

Last night
I dreampt of you
And just like in real life,
Even in my dreams
You disappointed me
There too.

not one soul
can t o u c h me the way you do.
no arms, no legs, no bodies.
just your b a b y b l u e s on me,
and i drown.

what does it feel like to be held
not by another body
not by a set of limbs, a chest, a chin
but
by another soul

what does it feel like
to see truth in another pair of eyes
instead of hidden intentions
instead of absence

what does it feel like
to hear a familiar heartbeat
resounding next to your own
reaching through skin
through bone
two rhythms
indistinguishable

what does it feel like
to write poems about
a love that exists