I know how it looks
the jumble
Of consonants and vowels
but the I is silent.

Filling pages, filling books
thin and humble
with continents of vows
and high-hopes heaven-sent

Spilling forth in deception,
Painted masquerades,
but the I remains silent
In the ticker-tape parade.

I wish I could tempt you.
I wish I possessed the fire
To heat your blood,
To kindle desire,
To caress your sordid nature

Which must likewise thrive beneath.

I lay out my banquet,
Night after long night,
And under cover of darkness
You take flight
Into numb, dreamless sleep

Or in dreams I’m uninvited.

You sleep alone;
I keep turning
Lost in the ache, in the why,
In my yearning
To understand your distance,

Or why I wake to emptiness.