Your Poems became my Confessions
The poem began innocently
As lumps in your throat
You shave and trim them
Until they are perfect
But I don’t do that, I won’t
But when I read your work
Emotion finds its way
Into the architecture of psyche
Past the layers of skin
Into the bridge of passion
And as a symbol, I spontaneously
Burst with what makes you tick
As the same think that makes me whole
And that’s a powerful catalyst
For truth from grief and power
From sacrifice, and I’m an alchemist
When I read your work, and that’s
A crazy audience, uplifted from poverty
These poems begin innocently enough
So be careful what you do to me
Your words burn into me like erotic memories
And chatting about who to blame
For who we are, I fell for your ancestors
And by association, you, we both wanted
What we cannot pay enough to have
Pain became our meaning
And writing became our life
And if the present is indeed the
Revenge of the past, I have a feeling
My poems will reflect your silence.
