A post about him
Articulating pain, sadness or loss
flows through my fingers to my keys with ease.
But the love, the hopes, him,
are not as easy for my fingers to see.
Because with him it’s lust, it’s need,
To open myself to him –
makes me feel completely and tragically me.
In all good, pride and shame.
Tragically unguarded, open, accessible –
intricate feelings perplexing my brain.
Though sensitive, perplexed, flustered –
from a connection, shiny and new.
I’ve never felt more high, liberated or satisfied;
than when he’s in my view.
I could never give him, what he gives me.
My debt to him, non-existent, but overdue.
If I could just put my feelings to paper,
find my heart’s synonym.
I could share how good he makes me feel,
and write a post about him.