The spoken word
          is a  w i l d  thing,


It                               around,
              leaps
                              

                    ping-pongs from
           tongue           to            cheek


                     knocks down
                                                        teeth

 ­                        on    its    way    

                         out,

            shows up a little
            mangled, rough-
            housed.

I prefer it tame,
locked safely
behind thick
pen-stroke bars
in a prison of
crisp, cream
leaves or
LED screens.

Then, with a
        whip
                 crack it’ll
jump through
hoops, balance
             on
             a
             leg, ride
elephant poems
to a few cheers.

I swear it
ain’t mistreatment;
you see,

words

keep
   their
      meaning
      when
    written
   up
 tight.

I miss your tender
skin pressed up against my skin-
oh, I miss that spark

4:12 PM
17/1/20

How about instead
of saying goodbye we say
I’ll see you next time

You looked at me with silver eyes.
They shined at me as brightly as before.
It didn't change the fact that you were still,
Talking to that girl.

Then, you smiled at me.
Heard my laugh,
Made me giggle.
It made your face red.

Yet still,
I saw you talk to that other girl.
With your eyes shining
Not as brightly as before.

Please tell me,
Do you love me,
or no?