Screeching silence whispering
Truths your lips won't form
Letters from shapes to messages
Unsent piled high under the desk
Where secrets are swept, clean
Unseen by judging eyes
Stamped with footprints,
Soles ***** from creeping in beds
Of flowers in gardens your feet
Should never have sought
Sowing seeds you can't water.

I'm just a bag of bones sewn with ruby thread
A perpetual emotion machine
An ever-changing labyrinth
A love and attention fiend.

In your hands I'm a canvas doll
Diamonds dripping down my cheeks
A threat whispered, a promise hissed
A heart refusing to beat

You may see me but you'll never know
A bag of bones against the garden wall
It's the broken hand, my darling
we learn to lean on after all.

Intimacy begins with the most innocent of gestures

A curious smile

The lips speak a sweet word, yet not explicit; the intimacy prevails.

It hides behind soft kisses

a gentle touch

sometimes in your sublime presence alone the intimacy is far too much.

Intimacy is not behind closed doors
It does not always reside between sheets
It shows itself in a knowing look
In forests, shorelines, streets.

Intimacy sends you shivers through a written word or song

But between you and I it hasn't shown itself in far too long.

Please, sit down .
        Yes.
    We all have purpose in life .
The laws of gravity makes us ....
               Click Clack.
Some human beings say they can't walk.
                In shoes that is .
Rather they be high heels or penny loafers.
  The blood in the vessels of our hearts..
             Click Clack.
                         Giving us the double .
   The double feeling to live .
Humans refuse to just think deep and focus .
         Focus on what they could actually be in life ....
Focus on life changing moments .
       Focus on the click clacking.

Don't ever fall in love with a poet
because they will indeed admire and watch your every move
they will write about how the pen marks on the side of your palm when you write
don't ever because they will trace
every single freckle you have on your face and
write about the color of each and every one of them and
describe how they smile so brightly under the sunlight
they will want you to want to know every little thing about them
even if it's just what hand they write with and want you
to be wondering why they write with that specific hand when in
reality it doesn't even matter

the poet will watch the way you dig
your eyes onto that book and your small quick remarks onto the 26 letters all crumpled together and will know that everyday at 5:28 p.m. you smile

they will look deeply into your eyes
to see if they can at least take a little
peak of your soul and they will write
about you like if you were the only
thing they see good in this world

they will want to know what you think
about when you look at them and
see if you also count each and
every freckle and hope and write  
that you do but they will
love you endlessly and they will
show you that they love you and only you

but don't date a poet if you aren't
capable to watch them and
admire their imperfections
when they sleep late at night
beside you.

j.f

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3am is so unkind
to a lonely longing mind