Rumi?

there was Rumi who stuck a chord in me. and there was you who did the same. something about stirring people's souls is so individual and queer that it chokes me if i think too much of it. Rumi, you, i.

i wish you thought of me as me, without poetry, without anything. i wish you loved me with nothing, for nothing. but how may i ask you to love with nothing, when you never loved in the first place?

Hollow

how can you make me fall apart
and break my fall with loving lies...
how can you treat me like a child?
and like a child i yearn for you...
As I listen to Katie Melua singing, you become a slab of silence nestling in my cavity, melting gracefully, spreading through my mouth and sliding down my throat into my guts, knocking me hollow.

lies

go ahead and scar me again. tell me you love me and i'll believe you even if you never meant it.

never

there was warmth, longing and the need to walk away from you, when we tread along that sidewalk yesterday evening. i've never quite understood how you found my soul, when everyone else only found my hands. and yet in the warming of these hands sometimes, i almost forget that you never held them. never.

Silence

and yet

what did we leave behind for each other

but a stretch of silence

when the nights coiled and twirled and held our words together

they became conversations

when we touched each other through the trans-pacific waves

we consummated our love

when we lashed out at each other, the words fragmenting, bickering, falling like swords and we clenched against wants

we fell