“Ask me a question”
Your eyes turn true
Fixed in the whole of me

You don’t ask for a phrase
Or a poem
You want a question out of me

Working towards the clearing
You want a poetic path
One that leads to Love

Should I put down the pavement
The one that leads to my home?
Will I chase once again its light
Even when it’s noon?

Where is Love?
In the heart
Or in the eyes

And you ask me to ask
The questions that trouble my mind

You don’t let me plan my escape
I can’t lie through a question
I can’t fake love within a question

Aren’t you scared?

the world
a door
to be opened

open the door,
fill reality
with light

it's dark down here
limitations
shadows
annoyance

it's light up there
illumine the darkness

the light is me
is you
transform the world

Lick my lips
Cradle my face
Gaze into my eyes
And tell me I'm safe

if i survive this drought,
does it make me tough?
or does it make me cruel
for not calling your name?

We cannot write silence.
The beats.
The pause.
The breath.
The way it aches
and persists

and begs that,

if only for a moment,

our consciousness is only a whisper.
our bodies,
our lips,
the air that passes through falling chests
and stillness.

A melody of emotion.
Sleeping in the quiet of a heartbeat skipped
a word lost to the wind.

The wickedness of reticence
Encapsulated in air and time.

The moment stretched too long.
Hesitation perpetuated in the grip of fingernails
pressed into palms.

We cannot write silence,
but we can try.

to find a way to immortalize emotion
to create space
in the ceaseless drone of words that speak and spin.

I cannot write silence. But I can write
tears and years
and the burn of long-stretched lies.

I can write goodbyes and hellos
And dozen ways to say
I love to hate you
Or
I hate to love you
and sometimes
I cannot tell the difference.
Silence.
The space I have upheld for myself.

I love to hate you
Heart.

I hate to love you too.

I cannot write silence.
But I know it.
and I have held it in my hand.

The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.

When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.

If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.

But most people don’t see it.

Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.

The poet lives in two different worlds.

Here in the morning gloaming
burning
my skin flaming
as I imagine red kisses
from smouldering lips!

How easily
in anticipation
you make me whimper
before with pleasure
making me simper -
each kiss
another hot coal
placed on my rawness
with searing softness.