mystery of mine.

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Mystery of Mine

i must confess
to dressing up in your words
when you leave the light on
door unlocked
there is no heat
in this damn place, but
still i
read you naked
wrap your poems around my shoulders
drape them
'cross my legs

i said i
read you naked
fingertips with eyes
you write in braille
i smooth my skin
against your sheets

how does one love a poem?
metaphorical mumbo jumbo aside
if you are the words
and the words are the verse
i could love you

you reach me
into me
your soliloquies
hold conversations with my thoughts
you read me
edges to spine
fingers tracing secrets
across my back

i bend
for you are heavy
with mystery
do you hear me?
these words
can be written for no other

the familiar enigma
the shrouded mirror
i etch my name
across your glass
so you can see
the depth of rabbit holes

i want to follow you
through mazes
i find you

(well, maybe)

few things are certain
save for
this urge
to cup face with hands
look deep into eyes
and understand
what lies beneath surface

words like crack rock
addiction in my veins
stop speaking
it scares me
how my thoughts
leak from your lips
before i've tasted them on my tongue
where did you come from?
and where have you been?
two steps behind my footprints
are you the one
making meals from my breadcrumbs?

the faceless form
wearing my shadow
i feel you
stepping on my thoughts
the whisper in the dial tone
the figure
forming from the static
the space where windows
meet sills

i find you
in the
of dreams
and waking hours
you creep through my subconscious
webs that lock me up
i'm prostrate
at the foot of your voice
marionette to your thoughts
and slave to your stories
they are
my own
self-portraits painted
by foreign hand

understand, i don't
understand how you understand
all that has not been spoken
my head, your merry-go-round
and i'm
just along for the ride

i have lost my mind.
arise with poems in head
i compose
in dreams
awake to soiled sheets
wet spots of words
i birth the nile in my sleep
rising with tides
i'm spilling
all over myself
brewing thoughts
filtered through pores
and dripping onto papers

the muse has taken over.

it is easy to oblige you
grant entry to secret spaces
read me with your touch
i think i
write in case you are hungry
fill yourself up with
all of myself
your mystery for my own
i am spread on tables
for the taking

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