Like some sort of sordid fantasy in the tangles
of my subconscious belief, I
think that maybe some things must be waited upon to make come true.
That I must wait for the dream to unfurl, like the petals holding
tightly onto you and my talks to the mirror.

You have no idea of how terribly, insanely, amazingly
I can put my feelings
to words and not in my voice, that you are awaiting to read my mind and
my hopeless efforts to convey the feelings I hide so poorly
behind incredulous yarns of vocabulary.

I must wait, I tell myself for I, wait so intensely for my illusions
to come to life.
That you put to words the thoughts in my head without me
telling you so--
that you have read it all, the words, the thoughts and all else
and you love it without obligations.

But alas, have you found me, in the depths of oblivion
and I see a smile beginning to mark your face, for yes
you have found me and my words, dancing to the endless sonata
of feeling shy and courageous, all at the same time.