It is time to give that-of-myself which I could not at first:
To offer you now at last my least and my worst:
Minor, absurd preserves,
The shell's end-curves,
A document kept at the back of a drawer,
A tin hidden under the floor,
Recalcitrant prides and hesitations:
To pile them carefully in a desparate oblation
And say to you "quickly! turn them
Once over and burn them".

Now I (no communist, heaven knows!
Who have kept as my dearest right to close
My tenth door after I've opened nine to the world,
To unfold nine sepals holding one hard-furled)
Shall - or shall try to - offer to you
A communism of two ...

See, entry's yours;
Here, the last door!

I want to swim in an ocean of logic
and love with abundance of feeling.
But love doesn't come easily
to those who think (maybe too much).

And heartache comes slowly
to those who are slow to fall in love.

You were the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen,
so calm, compassionate, and loving;
there was just something about you that made me feel so serene,
you gave a reason for living.

Every move you made,
every word that rolled off your tongue,
words that never made me afraid,
but moved me and had me strung.

With every thing we did,
you always took me higher,
we kept nothing hid,
especially our burning desire.

I always keep your photograph with me,
as a friendly, hopeful reminder,
of what you used to be,
when your love was so much kinder.

There’s nothing worse,
than looking in your eyes,
god it hurts,
knowing that the old you died.

Having you on my side in life,
I felt like I had already won,
but now I’m caught in this strife,
and the fire’s gone.

Looking into your eyes,
I could see that they lost their light,
I told myself that it was a lie,
as if that would make anything alright.

I’m holding onto this photo,
because it’s all I have left,
of the one who made my insides glow,
and my senses deaf.

So this photograph of yours,
I hold it close to my heart and pray,
that you’ll be like you were before,
because I don’t want us to drift away.

This dirt under my
Fingernails is from crawling out
Of holes that Life
Threw me into.

Well... at times I jumped in
Without help.
The point is
I know how to get out.

I'll teach you; here, take
My hand. I might even let
You have the whole arm.
But know:

The moment you try to
Pull me down for a quick fix
Of company and comfort, I'm
Letting go.

Life is more than holes.
More than self-pity.
The sun never searches for
A cold face to kiss.