i have tried too many things
to elicit the poems
swirling inside of me

i tried listening
to different kinds of music –
may it be from a band or an orchestra
sad instrumental ones or
lyrics accompanied by upbeat drums –
in attempts to give way
to the stymied words in my throat

i tried dancing in the rain
thinking that maybe the downpour
would make my words and ink
drip much easily on paper

i tried reading different kinds of literature
hoping that other people’s words
would give me an idea
a catalyst to the unloading of my thoughts

never have i realized
that i could have saved myself
from all of the trouble
if i only knew much sooner
that the only thing i’d need
was
*you

was it the steady splattering of rain
against the roof that woke me up?
or was it the silent thrumming of your heart
against my cheek as i rest my head on your chest?
i felt you breathe in and breathe out.
it was neither.
for your heartbeat couldn't have woken me up
had it not been
in rhythm with mine.

did i wake you up, too?

but what are these stirrings
this overflowing warmth on my chest spreading
down to my toes and fingertips, oh, how perplexing!
then i started violently coughing
finding its release my stomach heaved
the contents of my gut won’t rest until relieved
it rose up my throat as i cried out
and hurriedly spewed out of my mouth;
fireflies in the tens of thousands
such spine-tingling ceaseless radiance
i trapped them in a jar
creating mine own fixed star
i keep it on a shelf at my bedside
it illuminates my deepest and darkest nights