I don’t think I’ll ever know why,
but she sings when she’s alone in a room
and I don’t like wondering why,
but I do like to picture
thousands of reasons
sending her shoulders back
to pull that voice out
from the kind of places
that some time to talk about.
And I love it when she whispers
and sometimes I stay quiet
but mostly because answering becomes more
that what we bargained for to begin with,
there’s just the two of us
turning like dancers in the dark,
sharing looks and half-said words.
Clinging to this image
of what’s formed between us,
that hardened thought that’s lead us
to every moment we’ve had.
Now I have to confess something,
I just creep you on Facebook when you’re not around,
but it’s only because I miss the way
your face smiles from the edges of your lips
and I keep catching myself
wanting to ask you for more,
but I’m already fading into the rest of my life
and it’s in line with the direction that still shines
this light in the eyes
of those who still questions what they cant see
and yours is a face of gestures
that speaks louder than the chorus
that follows strangers into common ground.
Now I have to admit,
part of why I wrote you this
was so I could talk about you
like you weren’t even here,
like the way I talk about you
when you’re not around
and in gifts like the present
we’ve already begun to weave a past together,
one that looks like our fingers
when we’re standing beside each other.
I hate winter,
but I love the nights
when we keep each other warm
and I’m beginning to suspect
that I’m the only one of us who snores.
Now I don’t know if you can hear me,
but I’m saying things without saying them
because there are times when all I want to do
is describe what your hair looks like beneath streetlights
but the air itself dims down to a hue
and time doesn’t make me any promises anymore.
These moments remind me
that the only thing I really know
is the very thing I know nothing about.
The answer’s to
what’s going to happen?
and where are we going?
But you still remind me
of the first time I ever wrote a poem.
The way I stuck to you
was like the way
language stuck to the thoughts
that fought so hard
just to explain themselves.
And in the blink of an eye
you lashed out
and held me with such a look
that it took everything I had
just to hang on to that single moment
where just being in the same room
feels safer than the winter
we’ve locked outside.
Now we’ve both begun to hold out breath,
but I’m only pausing long enough
to count the grains of sand
as they fell through your hourglass figure.
It’s like we’re pouring these emotions
into puddles that pool their promises together.
And of all the things we have in common
my favourite is this,
we both laugh at our own jokes
and maybe a little too much as well,
but never any more than we do at each others.