(2014)
Passion doesn’t arise from 12 point Times New Roman but rather from ink on one page and another
You asked what I knew about you and I thought up a list of twenty things
I see poems that need to be written scrawled in the shape of your smile and the lines of your face
There is something to be said of a true friend One who will pull the knife from your back One who will stitch the wounds
Hope in another form but no fewer letters and I’ve been hoping for these past eight years so I’ll just keep on
I would write a sweet poem and title it with your name if I loved you at all
My heart was paper now folded six times over to make it harder to tear I only hope that
I get my silence in five minute doses before the plane overhead brings me back to earth
You were the wind beneath my wings but I was Icarus so all I did
I don’t remember any anesthesia after talking with you but I woke up stitched back
Everyday I visit the only writers block I know to hone my words and wit and help them cut deeper into the skin
I feel empty unceasingly until you come along and fill my heart to bursting
Everyday brings a new death in three words give or take Some days I drown
The hands of this watch haven’t moved since the last time you did and I’m not sure if I’m ready to hear the ticking
It must be a wednesday or a friday or any day at all for I am painfully aware of the wo… that consumes me
