to me,
you are
an art

                              to you,
                              I was
                              a tragedy

with the slam of every door
with the drop of every picture frame
with every octave raised
with every night spent crying
with every morning spent praying
as the noises creep around the corner of the hallway
and that free-spirited
joy-filled
troublesome
pure and innocent adolescence is spent  
listening to two people fall out of love

©L.F.

Coronavirus
Don't come back
If you will
I'll give you a thwack

your eyes touched me
before they even knew
what they wanted

they carved your desires into me

I cannot compose brilliant poems, sonnets, or verses,

and I cannot speak to you in Latin or Greek;

I cannot move you with any language made up by man.

Love is the only only language I could touch you with

If you only knew how much I could love you.

If you knew I love you;

If I were brave enough to tell you at all.

strangely,
the feelings of emptiness
are quite heavy.