Your words whisper in my ear. Your voice does things to me That haven’t been felt in years.
My heart races My insides quicken I want to hear more
I listen when I’m alone To be safe from disturbance. I listen while at work In hopes that no one notices The reaction your whisper creates. I listen before I sleep at night; You’re the last thing I want to hear.
Blow by blow, your words hit deep. The aching and longing are no strangers to me But nothing else does it justice, Not like they deserve. Nothing can explain Or perfectly portray These feelings the same way.
Like a box of chocolates sitting on the kitchen counter, the ones your doctor says to avoid but you bought them anyway because you deserve a chance to indulge in something sweet and it’s your only way of feeling complete after the rest of your life has been torn from you.
You nibble on them every now and then, or carefully slice a half here and there, because all at once is just too much guilt. Those cravings come despite trying so hard to ignore them. Staring you down in your weakness they taunt with, “just a little taste to satisfy your needs.” And that’s all you’ll allow yourself to appease the cravings.
With a hint of pure ecstasy rolling around inside, your heaving breast wishes it could last but knows it’ll end far too soon.
Images and words suddenly appear, words I’ve longed for hitting deep as they wrap around and envelop me, overwhelming yet satisfying.
Since our last meeting your ghostly presence arrived in the oddest of places: romantic restaurants, quaint cafes, art galleries, long car drives, concert halls, walking in a park, every room of the house, and late at night in bed.
Days leading up to the most significant life events, it was you always there intervening and me not finding the right words to express the emptiness, the loss, the longing, the wanting.
Reunions are great, they say, as long as you don’t have to deal with the past, as long as it doesn’t control your present, and as long as the flame doesn’t consume you.
Yet, here I am standing steadily in the burning flames with you again.
This poem is pulled from snippets of Esteban Rodriguez’s poem, El Rio. These snippets pulled together brought out a truth that spoke to me. Check out his poem in Non.PlusLit.
ready to give up
what they knew they’d never be
aware what he believes in
will not always remain
and though you want to believe
when he tells you this
you find nothing when you look
each time you place yourself in the middle of it
and which you hope
if the time should come
Even in sleep
unsure if they’re signals
if he does what awaits
or stay if his limbs grow numb
accept the nothingness
he prays he has the strength to wake up
he will be found and dragged to a place where you eventually
promise him to not suffer
unsure how you got here
or if any part of this is real
you find a man you believe
only he doesn’t remember you
or of the decades he spent
knowing as you know now
the path leading back
would not welcome his return
All the words to say The sad ones The lonely ones The grateful ones The mad ones They circulate through you But never leave your lips Raging out onto paper For all to read But the ones closest to you Will never see Those words escape effortlessly
Words poured out late at night And splayed across the light of day Words that others will relate And make others feel safe That they too feel the same way Words that will make you give ‘Thanks, Thanks for today’
So use your words Use them wisely Share them with those you love Share them with your friends and family Share them with the world Let them see Just what you feel Spark them with your electricity