Your veins bleed into my dreams, You
can save the world one by one by two
hands clasped together. I remember
but choose to forget the way the light

contrasts the murmurs off your
tongue. Your eyes pouring ideas into
the soul, obviously. You can see the
birds and bees, the beauty. They annoy

me. I can only hear the breathing of
the other, the nuisance deafening;
defeated. Your frequency loud; full
of static. It never came in clear, the

nobs worn out from constant turning
and tuning. This is what’s so alluring.
This is what attracts me to you like a
leach on an unsuspecting animal

drinking from a pond. I envision steering
the ship from the comfort of a worn out
arm chair, but conforming is not your
ideology. The idiosyncrasies offend

me. I hate that you are free. Alive. You
are punk rock, shattered glass, a book
without words filled only with the works
of Picasso. I’m the cage you claw against,

I know this. If you love something let it
go, and it will come back; they say. I
realize this is why I cannot let you go.
I do not love you. I love the control.

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