there's something about
the people you don't know
that makes you laugh

the old men escorts
babble while we whisper
they make you laugh

cold fingered hipsters
who talk **** cause they can
have made you laugh

"what are you doing?"
"just playing" i would say
and then you'd laugh

bleary blue eyed boys
good intentions twisted
have made you laugh

and yes even I
still blue eyed and bleary
will make you laugh

there's something about
the people you don't know
that makes you cry

the old men escorts
babble while we whisper
they make you cry

cold fingered hipsters
who talk **** cause they can
have made you cry

"what are you doing?"
"just playing" i would say
and then you'd cry

bleary blue eyed boys
good intentions twisted
have made you cry

and yes even I
still blue eyed and bleary
will make you cry

Can I come to you as I am,
in secret-
brimming with the need to be held?
Can I lay hot whispers on your skin
then taste how they make you feel?
Can I show you how to touch me,
how hard to press?
If I cry
can I hide salty tears
in the soft curve of your neck?
Can I bite, ever so gently,
before I scream?
Can I be your lover,
without you loving me?
Can I, please?

There's a woman inside of me
that feels the things I cannot.

I know this because,
one day,
I felt her screaming.
Shaking the ceiling beams
of my body.

Then I listened.
I could hear her weeping
when she thought I was asleep,
and her tears stained my pillow.

I've never seen her.
Her self is forever covered
by the confines of my own soul.

I wish to set her free
but  my voice hurts her ears
too much to ask how.

Sometimes,
when I hear you laugh,
I can almost pick out a familiar bell,
one note familiar, in that chord
from your throat.

I imagine her face to be yours,
but I guess I won't know
until I learn to speak softly.