this poem is a virus,
so be careful not to let it
touch you
like the soft fingertips
of a wide-eyed girl on
your lips, silent as if
to say, shhh, do you hear
this great thing between us,
this aching nothingness
in which my heart lingers
and stutters?
and oh, how it stutters.
us - us-us- he - and i. me and
him. we. us.
she is like a singer when
she laughs, speaks in recitatives
like she has an audience (you),
quivers in her bones
when you touch her.
(there is just this girl and
her hand on your face and her
wide, wide eyes and there's
nothing more you could ever
want, nothing at all)
YOU ARE READING
Rocket Fizz
ŞiirA collection of decidedly bad poems written by yours truly Surprisingly not really about space
