Slats and slits.
Lights shimmer, gathering on the coffee cup revealing a pattern of circular tide marks.

Grates and grit.
Shadows under eyes, creating a weathered haggard stormy expression.

Belly rumble

                       Shakes

                                  Greyed skin

                     Eye lash crust

Illustrate me...

Do I love you?
Do I,
Love...?

The words have stopped
doubled over on themselves
in pain
unrecognized

In truth
I wouldn't know--
you, Love?
But maybe from a picture
thinking--
"This is from where the poems come?"

Having never searched your eyes
with mine
nor heard your voice
invoke me

Known your thinking
in any given moment
Nor you, mine

Nor watched your hands
for hints
endear
affection
in expressions

Could you forgive my mess of moments?
the lame that years have left
so slow circles
the lonely artless?

socially inept

I fear
you could not forgive the fear
for so long
left behind

How can you say
you love me?

By what assurance do you

Speak into my void

To the Goddess of morn
who made bread from fire
and taught me how to read
to read the wreaths of coffee
into the songs of dawn.

And to the Mason who
showed me how to hammer,
form out of chaos
and cherish the scent of
the cement on grey-green walls.

© LazharBouazzi

There's just no easy way to say
Packed a bag and I left the house today

I let you in and trusted you like therapy
Now my rear view reads you appear too close to me

I've just got no more time to spend
Check engine lights and I gotta pay the rent

Been putting this off like an overdue oil change
Speeding from a reflection in our window pane

I'm done with aching
And the Summer's bout to break
You'll be forgiven
But right now I must escape
This All.