Share your thoughts with mine,

half slacked and entwined.

I want you

it won’t matter where we sleep,

as long as we’re both there

touching skin to skin

like the last time at your house.

Looking in has always sounded nice

don’t refuse the invite,

poet are you there?

I could make you my very own

convenient excuse why I’d use you

to distract my broken mind.

I should stop wanting

because there are others

who would lift me.

I cherish the written word

because who really knows

when I’ll get the chance again

to make literary love to you

putting delicate skin on skin.

I may run out of words

long before I get the chance

to tell my publisher

I want you.

Even that stubborn voiceless side

that refuses to tell time to go away.

All over your body

I have yet to explore that one sacred place

where the pretty thoughts emerge.

Oh I swear,

I have not forgotten your words,

the hint of regret while telling me

in some ill thought of way

to busy your heart broken mind

I’m the perfect distraction.

Almost like the junk

in our childhood kitchen drawers.

My love goes out to you tonight, cheers,

here in my broken place

I swear I’m not ignoring you.

My heart begs to be the center again,

it’s a tragedy that slowly plays

spilled out on the streets

for all the others to drive by and witness.

The hero will come tomorrow

with baskets full of favorite things

to remind you what love is supposed to be.

I have a feeling you’ll dance again,

but this time when you’re on top

of an unsuspecting world

they’ll have no idea you’re somewhere else.

Never mind the things I’ve said here,

just remember if,

you truly are my poet

you’ll want again.