Do you get angry in the middle of the night
for things that you haven’t said,
for the tales that haven’t been told,
and for the chapters that haven’t been read?
Do your demons play well with mine?
Does your mind contract and unwind?
Do you have an insatiable, unquenchable and incorrigible flair?
A meeting of the minds that fuck you in prayer?
Do you go to bed at night wondering what’s at the tip of your tongue?
A mystery and a talent drowned at the bottom of your lungs.
A story that must surface to the tips of the wavering seas…
with the beating of my heart and a ‘fuck you, thank you, please.’
Nothing’s ever as sweet as a swig swallowed from your bowl;
the meandering through my veins in tune with, ‘for whom the bell tolls.’