Her poems are like
sound waves
they can't help the shape they make
arcing, cresting, jagging scores into the sky then
crashing
into smaller crescendos and puddles
refusing to stay still
adamantly holding their shape then
suddenly relenting
into smaller
smaller
lines
Then it HITS, her thoughts
They rip through the message finally clear
not even sure how my brain processes
these tiny wave forms not really sure
how these shapes make me feel
not sure how the words
can drift into my head
and make me feel
something
anythi
ng
.
.
.

I saw you
after a long while and
just like before, my heart skipped;
all the noise became a murmur,
I ate my words, gobbled up my phrases,
and I can't finish anythi