When the woman you love is a poet,
It is hard to tell the difference,
between a poem and a conversation,
When the woman you love is a poet,
She will never speak her thoughts,
I have to decipher the lines,
When the woman you love is a poet,
It's hard not to be ensnared by the words,
And remember that the notes she sings,
Were not all for you

I like to think
I'm too big
to be broken,
I'm so high
above
all of that
- but you're the one
who brings me
back to Earth
and says
that I'm only
five foot
tall.

All the lights
have gone out
in my eyes
and you've hidden
the matches.

Didn't I tell you
I was afraid of
the dark?

The dimly lit doorway

into a place where you only

spend five minutes and five bucks

the place between lost

and I’m willing to lose it all

the highway, a tongue

and this, just a taste bud

the simple reward of sweet

combined with the punishing truth

that this is the last stop before the end

this is where I find

what I’m looking for

Dear Blank,
I left your name blank because I don't know who you are,
or where you are.
Are you near, or are you far?

Dear Blank,
Sometimes I wonder if I truly need you,
Or if I'm better off on my own.
But I am scared: will you lift me up or hold me down?

Dear Blank,
Will I ever find you? Are you really there?
Or are you just a memory, and idea, a question--
A question, with no answer, or confession.

Dear Blank,
If I search, will I find you?
I would call out for you, but I don't know your name,
And all I see surrounding me is more of the same.

Dear Blank,*
Are you really there?