Why is it that we can be jealous of a thing we pushed away?
Is it because if I can't have it,
I don't want anyone to have it.
Let's call it,
Her.

Even though:
This jealousy is unfair;
To her,
To me.

I am happy
I am sad
I am jealous
I am mad

Smiling
Frowning
Glaring
Drowning

I can hardly bear this
tension of my lips
as I fall for the silence
in your hands
I remain silent till
the coffe gets cold
the streets get slippery
because of a radical darkness
somewhere there is a first
breath, a first kiss,
a last breath

I want to forget all languages
except the language of whispers
a rumbling cascade this feeling
of my quiet fingers
such a wonderful paradox
within a broken world
innocent dreams can envision
you

dark hair, darker nights
the winter solstice draws us
together again

Chart in rhymes
isn't all a poem is about.
Embrace words of art
mirrors of hearts!