im not real, neither are you just keep pushing try to get through the pain feels real thoughts seeping through time is non existent.... when I'm writing to you
There is a silence that our lips Only know, only make And only surrender to, somewhere, Some place, in the rhythm, With the movement, at the sound, Of laughters making love.*
Her neck is ivory, wall, tower. Lips, small, fragile And are cardinals, yet, Her eyes clamber, over— Her eyes are flowers On the trellises And her forehead Needs a kiss.*
She alone will understand Why the word star in my poetry Will never be well put, Why the colors and the setting change, And how her name Does not ring the same, She alone, where we, she Alone.*