July 11, 2014 / Write a poem, she says – the kind of poetry that I want to hear. The kind that sits on your shoulders – makes a home there. Words that carve themselves deep in to the page – caverns dancing – dancing that only happens at the corners of mouths, listening. Phrases that make skin obsolete. The only crawling comes from scrawling my finite language into a world with no dimension and no end – Something that makes its way into the veins of someone who tears at me without even knowing. Someone who will never remember who we were, or know that we loved fiercely. Lines that sit on flesh like dust – seeping slowly into lines on palms of soulful musicians, playing in dark corners – reeling you in.