I write about the sandman
and I tell you “It’s a true story”
the hole that “leads to neverland”
is really…
in my back yard
and is, the size of my fist
and it could
p
u
l
l
you through it just as easily as it was dug.

I write about the deep blue ocean
and I tell you “It’s dark, crushing me”
the ocean is suffocating and
it’s where I
re
si
de
when you’re not with me.

I write about my bruise kissed eyes
and I tell you “I can’t imagine sleeping”
not without you, your breath against my ear
and the smell of cinnamon and strawberries
I
tell
you
“the white noise” is what helps me sleep
but really, it’s the certainty of knowing
you can be so close that I can
(almost) feel you.

I write about the dreams I have about you
and I tell you “I can feel you sometimes”
but I feel you every night, I can imagine your skin
your hair, fingertips, light touches as you trace my body
do
you
even
know?
The question is simple, stupid even
I can
f e e l you.

I write about you, mostly
and I tell you “I love you”
and sometimes you question the truthfulness
and it hurts, but I question you too
in
s i l e n c e
and I try hard not to make it known.

I write about how you break my heart
and I tell you nothing and let you believe in the hurt
but you could never break me

you.
keep.
me.
complete.
andicanfeelyou.