I have whispered your name into the air so many times it has become the breeze that blows

I grew up in a house built in 1937 long before codes and regulations and sometimes

My heart was paper
 now folded six times over
 to make it harder
 to tear
 I only hope that


Passion doesn’t arise from 12 point Times New Roman but rather from ink on one page and another

Everyday I lived out a song written just for you But you could

All that I know how to do is write about death without dying and write about life

I see poems that need to be written scrawled in the shape of your smile and the lines of your face

I feel empty unceasingly until you come along and fill my heart to bursting

You were the wind beneath my wings but I was Icarus so all I did