your words make me
ache as far as a torch
stretched between murky-
blank pages

do not wait to scrawl your
truths until heavy resignation
creeps over my head like
a dark shawl

do not wait -
                         - I miss
                         everything and nothing
                         and (god
                         **** it)

the philosopher was right in
assuming a search for completion
leads only to a sort of frustrated
compassionate silence,
                                           so
                                      tired of being tired of growing
                                      weary with assumptions,
                                      mad libs of the spirit, only
                                      fill in the line with whatever
                                      you dream might be,  


              no


let me know you, the real
uncensored and true
(I can love) you

I feel like a child being spelled at
to keep the F-I-L-I-B-U-S-T-E-R for
adult ears only but even though
I admit the fact
                           - I know next to nothing
my heart desperately
wishes to know
you, everything.