Is it too much to ask?My pen feels heavier with each hopeful word,desire dirtying the clean, crisp paper.Gut wrenching guilt,I am down on my knees,the river Thames has found a new home,past the bursting bank of my lashes,down my cheeks,onto my bed sheets.I chant,calling out,reciting the things my aching fingertips reach for in my sleep,as…

Your tears,my lover,they tear me apart,and I am rebuilt,no longer a soldier in the war of our wanting,just a dreamer in a field of dandelions,writing you a verse about the roses that grow when you blow me a kiss from your bedroom window.