So many words
Stitched with finery
Fine attire crafted
With feelings close to heart
The soul once lay bare
Now clad with intricate fabric
Richly woven
With fine craftsmanship
Fashionable for every season
It’s your own creation
With the language of your heart
Cloak of eloquence
In the poetry you write

Am i the literary element without
plot, theme, tone?
Or the protagonist killed before reaching his goal?

Am I the underlying meaning...

  or but a minor theme?  Narrative revolves
  around me, I digress.

No
Shakespearean Romeo,
my character.

And, my thesis,
may have several themes-

Plots never progress beyond what
I with such scant success
imply with my heart...and it never lies.

It suggests.

I wish you could hold me tightly,
and constantly tell me you love me,
so I don't have to feel this insecure and uneasy,
about deserving you in my life.
you see,
its hard for me to believe in love,
to breath in what I've never ever received in my life before.
you make it harder for me,
when you don't remind me that your still here,
and that we're still okay,
its even harder now that we've become so consumed in our own day to day lifestyle,
that I've lost track of time,
of when last we shared a kiss goodbye,
or made passionate love,
how can I put my heart in a place that lacks the time to pick it up,
and sing to it melodies of love,
to give it the reassurance that everything is gonna be alright,
and by the blink of my eyes,
you won't make a disappearance act before I've said goodbye.

I give you a word
And press it to your ear like kisses.
This is the nature of poems
That they tremble in the flesh
Like fireflies fading too soon.

I give you a word
And press it to your eyes like laughter
After the nature of sun-glow
Dazzling Damascus wonders
Like the meridian at noon

I give you a word
And press it to your heart like honey
Funny the nature of speaking
That can frazzle the nerves and sparkle
Like skyrockets chasing the Moon.

I will give you a word
And press it to your tongue like thunder
Under the nature of breathing
That flutters in your registers
Like an old song without a tune

I give you these words
Will you give me your ears
And your eyes
And your heart
And your voice

A singularity is a point in a black hole of infinite density so that all matter and energy is crushed together so there is nothing between us


There is nothing between us
No skin
No flesh
No blood
No bone.

We are a transient dance etched into the membrane of being.
We are softly laced with the delicate threads of string theory.
We exist in dimensions you could hardly guess at.
We play in a place where there is no Yin or Yang;
Only pure Chi: indivisible.

And all the raging, raving beauty of the world declares
That love is not something you make or do, but
That love is who you are, and often
Oh, so very often
Love is letting go.
So,
No,

There is nothing between us
No skin
No Flesh
No blood
No bone.