(2014)
Passion doesn’t arise from 12 point Times New Roman but rather from ink on one page and another
I see no joyous rebirth in spring for autumn will bring another death I see no joyous rebirth
I hope this is postmarked before my death certificate is dat… but you’ll know why if it is or if it isn’t If you get this in time
To put it simply each beat of your heart is a gift that I receive with the anticipation of a child at christmas
I grew up in a house built in 1937 long before codes and regulations and sometimes
I see poems that need to be written scrawled in the shape of your smile and the lines of your face
I awoke from a deep sleep and knew the reason was to write I love you
All that I know how to do is write about death without dying and write about life
I wrote this while thinking of you so I guess you could say this poem is eight years in the making
I thought I could drink you away but I had to stop being so drunk on you first
If nature were so flattered by poems written with itself in mind as people are we would be moving mountains
I have whispered your name into the air so many times it has become the breeze that blows
I feel empty unceasingly until you come along and fill my heart to bursting
My heart was paper now folded six times over to make it harder to tear I only hope that
Everyday I visit the only writers block I know to hone my words and wit and help them cut deeper into the skin
