It's Not Love, Is It?

The skin on my arms turns into goosebumps
Hairs stand on end
It starts in my hips and works it way
Out of my tear ducts
It's then I understand that my heart
Is deeper than I thought
Growing roots within myself
Where once I had thought the darkness too bleak
A foreign feeling
Like that of a numb limb waking up

You are forever walking towards me
I can allow myself that image
That one small wave of contentment
Because it remains
If only to feed these growing roots
Breaking through the stubborn soil of my insides
My breath becoming the leaves of a giant tree
I shade myself under the canopy
I've created for myself
From the seeds you helped me sow

The Unsaid Spoken

It's not a word, or even
A syllable or sound
That enters my mind as something
You've said

It's the cock of an eyebrow
Mischievous squint of the eye
That grin
The one that only inhabits
One side of your mouth

You've said volumes
And I listen intently
Like a child to an aging crone
A whispery voice relaying stories
Of the distant past

That same boundless activity
Found in a waiting child
Boiling just underneath the surface
Of my skin, of your skin

But neither of us says the unspoken
The step that would take us closer
To comfort, would also be
Our undoing

We speak with our eyes, our smiles,
Our energy
We dance along the same vibrating thread
We keep the unsaid spoken between us

Overwhelming

Lights turn red as my hands turn numb
The window stays open for fresh air
I can't breathe in enough of the stuff
Intoxicated by the smell of your skin
A scent that lingers in my nostrils
For days afterwards

My mind remains an open tomb
Black hole of emotion and thought
Whatever it was that sucked me through
Holds me captive, although I struggle not
I've seen what my being can handle
What I can sustain

I cherish it
Although the memory retains only fragments
It stays in me
Like a filling meal leaves your body comatose