I've written the

lyrics of my

body along the

center of your

mind but I

still must ask

the question -

Where

does that leave

us now? You

still have my

poetry but all

I am left

with is a

vague recollection of

your touch seared

into my *****.

Long ago, my

words were the

knife slashing at

your soul but

now its the

knowledge of you

that rips across

dreams of you

In the heat

Of a midsummer

Night’s fantasy, you

Asked me if

You were enough

And I was

Too young, too

Foolish, too far

Gone to tell

You truthfully – your

Bounty was more

Than my deepest

Fantasies ever could

Create. Eighteen was

Too young to

Be honest about

What I wanted

But honesty has

A much better

Sound with three

Years of living,

*******, and dreaming

Behind me.

Now

You are nineteen,

Still too young

To be honest

And this heart

Breaking waltz plays

On. Cheerful melodies

Of emptiness, never

Changing, never ceasing,

Never moving forward.

We are trapped

By our age

And time will

Only tell how

This story will

Play out and

When its ending

Will come at

Last. How silly

I was to

Know that the

Promises we made

To each other’s

Flesh and the

Music we wrote

Across our faces

Were not to

Last forever – we

Each only know

Pieces of the

Song that made

Us complete but

Also completely miserable.

I keep looking

For the words

But somehow I

Know we only

Etched our lyrics

In your eyes

During that midsummer

Night’s fantasy heat.

I need to
speak, to let
my voice burst
forth in the
twenty four inches
between us. There
is only silence
as I write,
as you read,
as we both
ignore the elephant
that sits with
us. You have
said nothing and
your silence screams
at me. Your
eyes are clear,
sharp blue against
the white while
my own pools
of hazel are
hazy with tears.
I want to
be touched. I
want to find
comfort from your
skin. I want
to feel your
breath against my
ear as your
lips promise our
survival. All I
want is to
show you just
how good for
you I can
be - let me
have you for
just one moment.