I have no camera
to capture a moment worth memory.
I do not fathom notes of symphonies,
nor can I serenade you with songs unsung.
I have no spices for a delicate meal
or recipes to make food dance on your tongue.
I possess no fabric for fashions to come,
and I am not chiseled in style of Grecian gods
in order to show another’s cloth.
I offer neither paint to spread on any canvas
nor pastels for paper’s surface.
I cannot act as a different person,
Or write you a play that may induce ovation.
I have no story in my head,
waiting to be ink on a page
or scenes in a movie.
I only have my ill-favored voice to be heard
And these words to be read.

Can I sit without
guilt and anxiety
if I take off this crown of thorns
and rid of it unto another?
Or must I stand?

Have you ever asked yourself
“Which parts of me are original?”
and then
not been able to give an answer?

If hell is engulfed in fire
as bright as the sun,
And heaven is lit
by a divine light,
Then I shall die with sunglasses.

My feet take me across mountains and streets,
But what if there is nowhere I wish to go?
My hands obtain desire,
But what if I want nothing more?

My mouth declares and consumes,
But what if there is nothing left to say
and my thirst quenched?
My ears listen to what is said,
But what if I need not from those who speak?

My skin unifies my being,
But what if I wish to come undone?
Must I bear that which is not sought after,
Or will they detach themselves?

You walk with me parallel on the beach,
You in the water, the charge and retreat,
No fear of what isn’t in your control,
But it can move fast, swallow you whole,
I stay on dry land; I like what I know,
But you urge me in with your eye’s glow,
We walk slowly through the water at first,
Adjusting to the cold with shuttering bursts,
A saunter turns walk a walk turns dance,
We tango in the water hands holding hands.