If the mind is quiet
   there's nothing to upset

Still the same as ever before
the over-played and too weary song
memory grinds in subconscious grooves
to the past feelings stubbornly belong

no,  I'll sing such no more
as the silent moments come along
my heart should remake itself
my love shall do no wrong.

It will be easy to repeat
we'd then suspend thinking
the mind is like a mint
currency it would continue printing

such addicted by time compounded
we hardly know the essence of living
night follows day is all we believe in
the persistent grind leads to moral dying.

Love is not blind,
but he who did not see your worth.

you're slowly losing me.

what does it feel like to be held
not by another body
not by a set of limbs, a chest, a chin
but
by another soul

what does it feel like
to see truth in another pair of eyes
instead of hidden intentions
instead of absence

what does it feel like
to hear a familiar heartbeat
resounding next to your own
reaching through skin
through bone
two rhythms
indistinguishable

what does it feel like
to write poems about
a love that exists