My mind is a prison.
I can read the sign, but it wasn't mentioned in the manual.
Just sigh and move on.
i wonder how
these love poems fade,
slither like snakes
from my mumbly mouth
and into your soft ears.
you are ten thousand miles away.
and i wake up to your midnight,
but there is no smoother sound
than your wholesome
"what's for breakfast?"
there is no time.
for when you are tired -
sweat dripping from your small forehead -
it is time
for the wind to pull me out the door.
so rest, little dove
close your eyes.
you know so little of
how deeply mine heart cries.
to my far-flung fluffer nugget.
we two are architects
building, forming one silhouette
laying the foundations of our future
and we transfer these unspoken plans
through our clasped hands
two beings of mass pressed close
and I can feel your warmth, how most
of your soul leaks through those eyes
and tries, to funnel me in
although I'm already running
the world rotates around our stillness
it cares not that we've found fullness
in each other's hold, but it sees
and it believes in our treasuring of the other's parts
and so spins quietly while we still our hearts
some people walk by and wonder
how two humans could be struck asunder
by the need to be together
for our lifespan, for forever, and how concussed
we feel by love
we two are architects, building something pure
forming something more
than anyone, even ourselves can understand
as we transfer the connection
through our hands
— The End —