Dear you;
I have tried,
so hard to paint my feelings out for you;
to relinquish those delicate flowers into the raging torrents.
I have always wanted,
you to understand what I do, is for you;
I don’t have to pretend I’m not falling into your fibres and strings.
I have craved your smiles,
to know they are for me, mine for you;
I frolic along with you, hands bound and the world a riot.
I have never wanted to cry for you,
to let myself feel something so large, trembling inside a shell for you;
to feel is also to know I can hurt, wounds and scars do show.
I always was excited by you,
what you could make me sing for, praise in you;
to feel the sudden rise of temperature, soar to new ecstasies.
I have never known that I could predict words for you,
being able to moan and shape them from my tongue;
I know what they are, before you growl them out and
bite me
with those sharped teeth
and I collapse with them
buried deep within,
my head, arms, legs and in between.
Yet, there are things I have always wanted to say to you.
Things locked away, deep;
bottled and barrelled in caverns and crooks.
I’m so sorry I haven’t been able to voice them.
You make me nervous. You don’t help me wrap my tongue around them.
But maybe it’s simply me; I blunder through it all, you know me well.
I have to tell you that I’m sorry we will never be able to know
exactly who we are, together or separate;
there is no one who knows another person so intimately.
We are lovers, but I will never truly know your body like you do;
and for that I only wish to speak in answers.
Never questions.
Or I’ll be haunted by their coldness.
Take care. I love you.
At the same time I’ve already begun to miss you.
Me.
