You have not known what you are.
You have slumbered upon yourself all your life.
Your eyes have been as much as closed most of the time.
What you have done is already in mockeries.

The mockeries are not you.
Underneath them
And within them,
I see you lurk...

-Walt Whitman


a prose for a smile

YOU have quelled my anxious soul, until there is only lightness, until I'm suspended in space caught between the curl of your lips and the imagined warmth over the stretch of my skin where your last touch had been.


i write for no one

IF you think the words I weave are for you to wear, you can walk naked now. They have never been yours and never will be. You are not significant enough to upset me nor matter enough to stand for even just a blot, to push me to push the pen, earnestly, till my fingers bleed. You think this is for you, but really, it is not.


there we had been

WE HAVE BEEN LISTENING to the same song, in secret, beneath sheets of silence, layers of longing under the cover of night wet with rain that we love, that puts out the forest fires of our fears, and muffles the sounds of a heart thrashing, desperately, hidden behind every thunderclap. Listen, my love. Listen to those distant heartbeats. The song will end soon, and your breath in my ear will be the only thing that could lull me to sleep.