I, of the Storm

My heart spasms uncontrollably
Heaving itself in an attempt to scramble
across ruin and rubbish, distance and static

Having nothing to offer, I hold tight to the reins

Look at this angle, Angel

I come to tell you my secrets, but flip past all the petty minutia
until there's nothing left to say, unless I feel like walking
off the deep end that day,

If I start to talk to fill the space, I find myself watching my voice get higher
I grow removed, 'she always sounds hysterical when she's trying to say something'
I wish I knew how to talk to you, ask you things that cause you to spill
all the tiny details of what you do, what you think- why do you make your face
like that
Will you tell me things I don't know
If I'm quiet too long are you going to go away?

If I told you a story, would you be more interested
Do you know which parts are true and which parts fabricated
Maybe you just don't care to hear the ending?


(Would you know to say "but no story ever has a real ending, they always go on")
Would you know to seal it with a kiss

Or were you thinking something else?

It's Just That

I hear you whispering to yourself at night
I don't know if you even know that I can hear you
I don't know if you are awake or on the verge of sleep

I wonder at the words you never say to me
Sigh at the thoughts you don't feel you can share
I want your ideas, their trails and dead ends

Still, I have been allowed into this space,
In this moment you may be troubled and feel far away
As I feel, unable to do more than make a pass, some simple gesture

Not waiting
Not expecting
We bend space
Suspended in time

And I hope it is enough
Just to be here, with you