oh behave...

there's a hint of danger in everything he touches.

Under the rain, under a tree

this place for us to become 'we.'

I'll give you a secret,

you'll give me a look.

I'll publish your nuance

in a leatherbound book.

Translations will spread,

in all manners and forms-

Adaptations will spring,

a piece each culture performs.

From odes in the highlands,

to cries from the sea.

Silent poems grow from the empty,

so they will always find me.

**

I will grind the teeth right down. All the way down.

So I gum my toothbrush in fretful fretful fear.

I will press my eyes 'til my tears I can finally control.

But that still won't make you appear.

There are too many questions. selfishness. opinions. blah.

I will give and sacrifice and spend time alone with you.

But that still won't make you stay.

I could set up camp in your living room, making tea and serving up tid bits of old news.

But that still won't keep your attention.

Gladly. Gladly.