You won't read this
salted-honey monologue
nor do I,
nor the midnight streets
nor the strangers
buried
somewhere deep between
my ribs
maybe
you can hear how
this lonely house sounds
of dripping
creaking
and window wind whoshes
semi-muted
fiber optic sounds
various vehicles
dopplering past
the silence
that held too long
between
like us
but now we are
alone, together, alone.
A silent alone, together.
—I whisper I love you more without you saying you love me
YOU ARE READING
an ocean of teardrops
PoetryI avoid surfaces with reflections, avoid facing reality. At the sea, where I last washed away my scars only to have them appear in different places, different faces. And so I try comforting myself through imaginary conversations with the people I lo...
