4i
A sigh over burnt coffee,
a glimpse through the touched glass,
fingerprints over your nose
a giant mark, as if to
scream
I am an individual, I too
think, learn, breathe,
though I feel a little too deeply.
The scent of warmth,
vanilla, the perfect accompaniment
to your crackled words
'am I doing the right thing?'
Well.
Not the greatest bombshell ever dropped,
nor the greatest question;
You got the syntax all wrong.
ii
Who am I to stop you though,
She and you, still
emotions, still alive,
its you,
As if in thought for the briefest moment,
as if words could shatter the years of
careful hoarding, guarding, emotional
secrets mulling through,
'she and I'
Sure. Whatever. Fine.
These are your juicy years, this is your
liquid heart, filling the
crevices, wherever easiest,
however simplistic, the convenient terms, still
hanging by the door, friend with benefits,
just met, nothing more.
No, no…
no broken hearts.
iii
But then,
if you've made up your mind
if you're just that sure,
certain that this'll work,
Why ask me?
Why bother when there's a fire, pulsing
Through your heart, and passion in
your veins?
Why bother disturb this grubby little fingerprint,
content to people watch,
content to simply watch as you say nothing,
yet still forget the syntax