The future is in a plastic bag,
easy to see and possible to reach.
The contents are all muddled inside,
one big blur of possibilities.

I could stick my hand in and feel around,
blindly grasping shapes and outcomes.
Or I could wait it out, see them spill out,
and have it all revealed at once.

But when I look inside, the only truth
is that I can hope and wait.

There is art
In your heart
Painting pictures
When I lay
My head down on your chest

There are songs in your eyes
Singing lullabies
When you hover
Pin me down
With your stare

There is a poem
On the tip
Of your tongue
I taste it
When I kiss you

You are tortured
Stereotyped
My jaded lover
I hear it
When you won't talk