In Other Words

There are heavy 

throwable words

like the ones

 placed on fingertips

and then given to a crowd.

There are affections

touching kisses

used for salutations

for the pleasant hello 

or abrupt goodbye.

There are words and

there are other words.

Some sayings get cautiously placed

to the inner ear.

Some words get temperamentally placed

to the backs of hands,

as if no one cares.

There are words

that in other words

are all swollen in love.

I want to be touched

any touch at all.

For this night sits

 like all the rest,

it’s near 4am and I write,

just like I have always done.

For the past 

one thousand years now

I say what is on my mind.

The trouble it seems

is my cautious side

that and

I’m terrible with time.

I sometimes fumble a meaning

or misjudge the tone.

I will sit for centuries

brooding that I am right

with clothes no longer in style,

that are half adjusted and torn.

I need to turn my attention

I want her

to be mine.

In my drunken haze

near 4am

I check to verify 

that I am sober

and I am.

My mood is to blame.

It is no use

because time has no real companion,

no deadline

no truth.

Perhaps I am not supposed to

just simply love

or have that belly laughter.

It is more complicated than all that.

For Each night

before kissing myself to sleep

I say a string of repeated prayers

words without Gods

it’s always the case.

There is this stranger

or phonetic undulation

that’s always creeping up 

in my throat.

I swear I try to whisper.

to gently call out her name,

but there is something

about hearing one’s own voice.

Her name

hangs in my throat

hushed in a whisper

that can’t be kept

in that soft and gentle place.

it is then

in my dream-like state

I tell myself

or lay out a list of instructions

for the following day.

I look forward to this

perhaps shy and away 

kind of way

of praying to her

to come to the fore front.

 I can easily accept

she makes her own 

wishes or demands.

I can’t help,

 but to just stare,

and watch as

she touches her own skin.

I am envious

like this deep seeded dominance

the warrior conquers

he screams

until his lungs are soar.

i claim her 

to be my own.

Thinking, she is my own.

This sensitive part

gets triggered 

enamored really

I need to guard and protect

against any obstacle,

barrier or comment

made about her.

I want this sensitive life,

where words that are 

softly whispered

written down and repeated

up against the edge

of this cold and protruding night.

I catch myself,

this, the handsome stranger

reflected in a room

by the things 

that are collected and kept. 

I am imperfect 

just like the mirror says

even if I am surrounded

by the most expensive of charms

the night is still dead silent.

Be true to me

don’t deny thy love

for even that minute

My muse

my love

I won’t need much else

I promise

with a mental list in hand

I will forever

adore and cherish


I love.

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