I message the girl I love
"I miss writing poetry"
I miss the way syllables
and sounds orient themselves
A line dance I haven't done
in years, but know the steps
A sleeper agent to the way
that used to be the only way
Back when my feelings were opaque
and dusty, indiscernible
Before I knew what anger was
without heat and fear
and raised voices
Before I knew safety as something
permanent, more tangible
than ghosts
Once, poetry was my first language
prose second, RP third,
A way to communicate without speech
without uhms and uhs
Before I learned to ******* my way
through public speaking
Poetry
A line and feeling, a dance
Syllabic sign language
I message the woman I love
"I miss writing poetry"
Pick up a pen
and write.
October 30, 2024
