I want to write,
but I write what I feel

and I can't feel anymore.

My shadow has gone up the mountain.
Shall I accompany him?
The day is closing, I close my gate.
As the autumn winds rattle my fate.
When early next spring
the brown grass turns green,
Will my shadow return to me?

I am not beautiful,
and such as a rose covered- awash
in the scarlet moon,
I have become the stem in which
water is drunk from the Earth.

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

I want you
only you
so I turn my mind off
to feel you better
In a time and place
where only you and I exists
letting love be felt
through the way we move
so let’s turn our minds off
and just feel

If my fate is to love you
From a distance
Then I'll burn for you
Like a star in your night sky
Bright, steady, reliable
Unwavering
Until the end of time.

I wonder if poetry is
a humble attempt to reduce
the magnificence or terror of dreams
to words.