I love to listen to His voice
It is cozy yet forceful
It can move my table and chair
It deeply penetrates to the veins of my heart
up to the tip of my fingers when I write
I follow His voice from the words
He wants to embed in every eye of the readers

He is the poet

By the way
I am His writer and ambassador.

my conscious hand extends out into the air
suspended over his back
the night has fallen, the birds won't be calling
until the morning comes to attack

he might be asleep, but his aura is mindful
the bed feels half its size
the blanket that surrounds his body
barely graces my thigh

I'm trying not to breathe, I'm trying not to be
because i'm sleeping next to a fuse
nothing feels natural about this
like swimming in a pool with both of your shoes

my knee bumps a place on his thigh
and now i hold my breath all-together
as uncomfortable as i would be in the texas heat
wrapped in a woolen sweater

what a tragic accident
i reminded him i was there
when he was in route to a place
of being blissfully unaware

we're too close for being so far apart
though it's beating next to me, where is his heart?
our love found its passport and traveled on
these inches should be miles,
how much longer til we're gone

I'm in love.
I'm in love with the way grass smells after it's been mowed.
It has a certain smell that reminds me of summer days and childhood memories.

I'm in love with how that rain hits my window during a storm.
It's like it wants to come in so badly that tries to obliterate my window but only to realize that as soon as it hits the glass, the raindrop itself obliterates.

And I guess that's how I feel in love with you. You reminded me of summer nights and some childhood memories and I wanted to get into your heart so badly that I thought if I made myself fall you would catch me.

But, just like the raindrop, I obliterated on contact.

with each kiss you planted on my ribs
i felt a sprout take root,
and at once my chest was filled with blossoms
that made me cough like soot.
they were darling bells that made me hack
whenever your shadow appeared,
so I plucked each petal plaintively,
though he loves me not, I feared,
its been a spell since we have wilted, and
i’ve pressed you deep inside,
hoping still to preserve your youthful bloom
after all your leaves have dried
-r.s

Finding your poems, there, all but faded
dust of pages, your fleeting song of days
secret book of you, lost among the ruins, laid
and there I stayed, many an hour
and could not tear away

Your love is the dance in my heart
that keeps my blood moving.
It is the fluttering of a thousand
excited butterflies in my stomach.
The sparkle on the water at sunset
which rests in my eyes
when they fall on you.

While I'm with you
I could never be too hot or too cold.
Nothing is more just right.

It is a love even cinema envies.
The song you play for my soul
is the one that I could never
sing alone.

It's 3am and I'm fighting back the memories of you.
But you're breaking through all of my defences.
I just need to feel your touch one last time.
I might be greedy but I miss the nights you were mine.
Darling please.
Why did you leave like that.
Whispers in the hallways saying you would love to have me back....
But nothing.
No phone calls.
No messages.
No letters.
It's 3am and the only way you're with me right now is because my memory can't seem to erase any moment of when we were together.