Thursday, August 20, 2015

Breathing exercise

He laid on the couch and
fell asleep with his shoes on
while I, sitting on the corner
of the room,
studied his body
under dramatic lighting.

You figure
first and always
among the things I cannot touch,
like the flying man
and the rooftops
on my favorite painting.

I loved and I love you.
Even when you told me not to.
You push me away,
you tell me to leave.
I am stubborn,
I won't listen.

I've been stashing all the thrill
below my fifth rib
for years now,
it makes it hard for me to breathe.
That is why I have and
will always speak my heart.

1 comment:

  1. Some of us are born to speak our hearts, one to one, in poetry, in song, over and over, even when no one will listen. You poem so touches me with its longing and its sense of commitment against the odds.