To Write Something On Your Arms

The speechless poet sinks

to her knees and shouts

silent at the sun, wordless prayer

and frustration. Meaningless verse

upon verse that dissolve

into the sobs of a broken pen.

I have thought eternity and diamonds

on what to say to you but

words fail like carburetors

on the side of the interstate in

the face of the sudden dawn,

all iron clouds and pink realization

There have been chasms

between us, my darling,

trenches of love and war and money

You have been hiding, head

among the clouds in private jets While my feet clung stubborn to the dusty ground

You have been restless,

love, looking for a taste of me

when I was too busy running

to lift my eyes to meet yours.

I passed you, walked right by, vision clouded with rage

I know I've kept you waiting,

kept you listening, praying, and

paying people to say my words but

I didn't mean to, dear heart,

I did not realize the time, I

could ill afford to check the clock

Time was too precious not to waste

when it was all I had that was mine

other than my words and even then

I had to quote my sources.

(Citations take away the beauty in

stealing someone else's thoughts) (any now they’ve taken even that)

You are the blushing dawn.

You are rosy, gold, and gilded

Up on your pillar, there

The altitude must make you cold,

dearest, so crash into my embrace I will be worth your wait and while

I had words for days and

pages upon pages of time

and now I've lost my tongue

Somewhere in the sight of you

As I desperately try and remember all

those novels I saved for you, darling.

Every night I'd write you sonnets.

Every morning I’d forget myself

and throw them away.

I am run dry with the reality of you,

drained of that purple prose

All I am are my sins, my envy and

my bruised and bleeding pride

3:17 AM

August 17, 2014