i lay with my head
secure in your lap
so content that the conflict
shreds my mind
as i do not understand
why words collect in my heart
screaming to no longer be
unspoken, unwritten
curled by your side
a cat searching warmth
or a girl aware of the night’s noises
your breathing slow and harsh
with illness and tobacco smoke
i want you to know my subconscious turning
but even stoned cannot say i love you
fearing corruption and attachment
let me not care except
through my poet’s lies
smoke illusions to hide emotions
let me be alone
with my words and punishment
i love with no forgiveness
eternal pain rewarding my passion

Actually, I love with too much forgiveness.  So I haven’t loved, really loved, often.

I recently wrote about the inevitable conflict between Writing and Romance.  This is another from the same relationship.

Saying ‘I love you’ takes courage I lacked then.  It is simultaneously making a promise and taking a risk.  So we got stoned and went to the bar.


About m

My ego wants to think I'm a writer but my heart knows I'm just another one of God's Kids who sometimes has words to say. 2 human kids and 3 feline kids call me Mom. Or Mooooooom. Or mewom, depending which you ask. I'm kinda-sorta busy being a student again; this time I signed myself up for a bizarre torture known as Graduate School. Theoretically in 4ish years I'll have earned some more nice letters to put with my name. Let's face it, I'm addicted to learning and probably need rehab to restore me to sanity and remove the obsession to read books. I don't remember what free time is but I think I like to spend it sleeping or playing in the mud on a river bank.
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1 Response to unspoken

  1. Pingback: a rusting toy | stories of survival

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