How melancholy are we now.
Your ghost heart beating so slowly,
I tell you things but they don’t make a sound.
How tired, how tired you are.
I meet apathy under your eyes.
How intangible is the light from the stars.
What is it to you now?
Is it silence, is it that I look into your eyes and see stone.
At what heartbeat of the clock did absence meet your bones?
I love you with every breath.
But each exhale left unreturned,
and each lesson left unlearned.
Leaves me with a bitter heart that still yearns
Words from your lips
A glance from your coffee eyes.
“I’ve been reading poems a lot”.
I tell you.
I’ve been writing poems a lot.
I don’t tell you.