organic

for my college professor.

there are these moments
when I'm left with nothing
but a white haze that slowly
clouds through my brain
in an attempt to rid myself
of your voice in my head.
for it's been eight months
and I can't quite let this anger
dissolve along my bones
and wash away into the fresh grass
of summer, my legs
cross into the sky and this page
still blank of all the empty words
forming in the base of my mouth,
my tongue dry against my teeth
in the silence I carried all year
around you.
because I had given up waiting
for this to get better
and am still trying to slowly rebuild,
to strip away the embellishments
and go back to my foundation
before I let you touch my writing
and imprint your voice,
your rhythm, your structure
and design over mine
in an unconscious attempt to please you
and your anger and disappointment
even though I could never have controlled
the outcome of your moods.
because I want to go back to when
this was all organic, uncontrolled
in an all consuming spiral of words,
the pages of my notebooks sticky and matted
with blood, flowers and molted
with colours against the damp of my tongue
licking the ink from the tip of my pen,
with poetry as my lover,
stripped naked to the core of my words
and my voice scratched raw across the page.
there is no need for your words here.

Exactly

I know exactly what I am, even
if I can't word it, even
if I am taken by surprise
against the window of this moment...
because you gave me
these words, in the blackened form of
a lover,
a kiss smeared across the page
in the form of whatever ink was available,
the ring on my hand
and the overwhelming sensation of poetry
stamped across my tongue
in the many languages
of God.
There is no satisfaction entangled
within my arms, strewn
among the sheets and stuck
between the frosting of a kiss...
because,
I've tasted too many other colours,
drunken a different rhythm and sold
my soul to another language
in order to be free.

I couldn't even go back now
if I tried.