I am coming to realize why most of the poets I read barely take their lovers name in their works . As myself a simple man is sitting to write (on) you , but keeping your name anonymous I am coming to acknowledge That they must be struggling greater than I am if not harder ;
To say it all out loud or whisper soundly in your ear holes To exploit it to every word haunting eyes out there or to keep you secretly folded in hearty crooks To let the world know or let the world die in me in the form of you To take you name or not to
Perhaps because of this conflict ,this tricky beating of heart William had to bring about the excuse Of; "What's in a name?"
Tonnes of pretty words but we shall keep the prettiest of all to ourselves So I shall be poetically honest and overwhelm everything Everything but never your beautiful name
You too wouldn't like it the other way round , would you ,hon?
The song from your lip is a memory, a scream from the forgotten skies the fire on your breath is the scar tissue from a scorned sun; the starlight from a crashing meteor that is marked by life yet carries the scent of death.
The words that fall from your half opened mouth are switch blade knives that cut through the edges of my skin, a whisper that slices through my bone with the force of a sledgehammer.
The story you narrate as the starlight slips in through the blinds is inchoate, as indecisive as the thoughts that run like unchecked rainwater in your mind your face an uncut gem a treasure that I might forever seek but never find.