i'm not a writer.

i can't easily sew syllables together and weave my thoughts into words.

i often have a difficult time painting a replica

of those cloaked emotions.

 

but i'm trying.

believe me, i am.

 

i want those veiled fragments in my mind

to glide from their shelter in the back of my brain,

to hesitate at my fingertips,

and to drip down onto blank pages - because the enclosed space in my skull is too small to contain

the world that is you.

 

i want to dissect every part of you,

exploring your hidden sites and precious landscapes,

and to knit those parts into a duvet of poems,

inscribing the universe in your heart,

painting the planets in your eyes,

carving the stars in your laughter,

and detailing every speck of dust and bead of pearl

that compose your soul.