Conversations (73/365)
September7
If you would only read all my poems
I could tell you what’s in my heart
Perhaps I need to practice
Growing the distance
From the brain to my mouth
When your thoughts are like images spewing out of a fountain
It’s impossible to name each one as you speak
Much less to keep them in assembly
I move my lips at a narrow mumble
A sort of dam on the reservoir
Our conversations like a dance
With a waterfall
Powerful and it keeps spilling and spilling
Until it loses its magic and majesty
And you just leave