I am tired of quiet.
Today I heard
poetry like the promises yelled into
empty rooms.
I want to write like that.

I search for this poem the way a body feels for another body
in a darkness too blind
to be beautiful.
I want to write a verse
so powerful that all the streetlamps in all the cities flicker on
and I see you clearly, the poem
in you, the gaps in your teeth and rise of your cheekbones,
the small broken things deep
within your body; a raw heart trembling
like wildflowers.

I want words that goosebump
like surprised hellos as my eyes stumble
across your face.
Words that crumble under our feet
like eggshells, powdery and beautiful.
That provoke question after question
and require no answer,
that bring you and I
closer.

I want to write like that.
Satisfaction does not cling
to words like we do to each other’s hands.
It eludes us, masqueraded, brushing
lightly against shoulder blades.
Closer, closer, closer.
Hairs stand on end.
Closer.

I want to write like that.