untitledTell me,More Like This
how do I hold a lover and tell him I love him when my feet
drags over museum tiles to look at beautiful art that I also fall in love with?
How should I lend an ear to jazz, and punk, and folk,
and passionate music with shivering lyrics, when peace also comes to me
in moments of pin drop silence, and quiet moons.
When the grace of solitude starts calling upon me,
how do I keep loving the things I do?
I am but one person with an infinite mind,
and this is why I feel insufficient most of the time.