you tell me that I always tell you
what you want to hear
that words will never be my
downfall
and this is what i want to hear
when i tell you
that i care, that i will stay even
when i leave
when i tell you i will be okay
if you are okay
but i dont tell you what I want to
hear when im lost
in my thoughts and my words
in a translucent world
that my laugh is like wind chimes but
also humid days in july
and i dont tell you that your hands
on the soft edges of my hips
feel like water lapping the shore
and i know that later
the same hands will feel
like water again
but drowning me in the current
of a storm
an emollient to the thunder and
the wanton ways we swim together
what I want to hear is that my hips
are like the breakers
of the waves of the emotion you feel
trying harder to kiss the shore
that I’m svelte but only in your
presence because in the
rest of the world my elbows are bruised
and my shins are stalwart
and that even thought I’m taciturn
i make conversation colloquially
and right now you are a panacea
to my homesickness and
my writers block and i am appeased
but not content
with everything you have given me so far
because i know you have been
clandestine and i know there is
a myriad of secrets to share
between us, betwixt us, above us,
about us
but only in modicum measurements
it’s always zenith with you which
we build up from the
highest nadir
and it’s not that i tell you the things
you want to hear
merely that i tell you the things
i want to hear
i am obsequious to my own
thoughts
