I fold my poem
into an intricate rose
still she has no scent

Distorted sense of time
Seconds changed to minutes
Minutes to hours then days
The years stacked collections of
Dusty shelves of memories
Ringing telephones, one sided calls, no replies
~silence~
The striking of their shooting nerves
It rattled and shook them
They changed shape
Fluidity in their being
Trying to settle
Trying to calm down.

Left and right, they looked for each other
in people they met.
Distance pushes them away
Their hearts tried to cuddle a bit closer
attempting to find the warmth
in the cold world they lived in.
They slid their hands into those
who would look at them the same way
but alas, none fit
for some fingers were meant to be intertwined
and wrapped around each other
feeling safe and sound.

Shouting at the sky,
Dear, the clouds will not cry for you.
Earth will continue spinning,
Ignoring the burdens of the hell
you carry around on your shoulders,
in the darkest part of your mind
and under your eyes.

A poet in love
Is a match soaked
In gasoline.

-r0

You see me as a person,
but to me, you are the sun
which my words revolve around
like orbiting planets with a sense of direction.