He knocked gently on the door of my tender heart,
He came as a respected guest,
And stayed back as more than a friend.
When he departed suddenly,
He left a footprint  on my heart,
I was never the same again.

In a drop of you, I lost an ocean of me.

It's like I'm writing letter
after letter after word
after sentiment and sentimentality
to you.
"You"
This elusive love has not left
my bones yet
nor will it ever.
It has seeped into me,
and no matter how many things
I write and say and do,
it is here to stay.
I'll fill pages with you,
thoughts and whispers and prayers.
Maybe, sometime, parts of me will move on,
but the parts I have given to you
will always be yours.

Curly Hair Streaks.
Lovely Cheeks.
Mischievous Eyes
Truth in Disguise.
Silent Lips.
The Beat Skips.
Endless Smile
Your **** Style.

Beauty is braille
written in the fingertips.

Never reading a word upon you,
              as my palms were pages.


And you were every word on them.

Your bright smile
Killed the darkness
In my heart.

I don’t know the weight of your words,
with what truth they carry,
but I assume the best
and that you have tied them up,
written them in fading ink
on homemade parchment,
considered them well,
etched them on the closed door.
I reach for the ****,
intending to see if it’s locked
but cease my motion.
I don’t know your intent,
didn’t know it then,
so chances are I never will.
Maybe you don’t either,
but, in this, maybe is a fracture
across time and
a life I wish to keep whole.
Closure is a blessing
when done with right intent,
but I don’t know you,
so I’ll take it at face value,
assume it is true and good,
and leave doors locked from within
alone.