kindred

there is more than simple words of white pages,
though sometimes
I’d gather colored sheets of paper
and pretend I had something important
to say, speak and pretend
listening
through half cocked ears
like animals on the sides of the roads –
as if they wait to hear their demise,
one car just a little too fast

but its tangents I write on,
if you could sit at my desk you’d see scarred lines
and dimpled surfaces
with ink in diagonals
as if I were playing tic-tac-toe
I always tried to be creative with
the way breath came in short bursts and long gasps,
expelling the words and making sense
or trying to
so goes the story –
like the song that never ends,
it goes on and on and repeats itself inside
my head,
writing its verses along
disillusioned curves and a head-first love affair
with love

and then I find you,
like a mirage in a far off desert,
drinking water from the concave area between
over blossomed breasts
unassuming innocent lived through years
of overdone life
clawing at the way towards light,
living in the moment of shade, cooling yourself
beneath my way of life,
our way of living outside the burden of society,
believing in the ways of love
combined ideas interwoven like fingers
of day and night
and as I lay my head against your chest
I listen to the way my heart
beats