i used to write about the sky,
about longing and the human condition
and need i felt.
today, i
sky dived
from the moon,
landed at your feet
and still couldn't
summon the song
of all my past times.
I've written too many poems
about you, Love. And never
learned them.
I figured,
the longer i had ou tangible in my hands
the better i would get at holding you.
but the wind was always strong,
your rigid edges always cut,
and the red of my blood
was never vibrant enough to please you.
im no love poet.
just a being stuck,
in this condition
trying keep
you on paper.
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