the love poem

I wanted to write a poem to you,
about the sound of your voice, of the
silences between,

about the catch between one word
and the next

I wanted to write a poem about the way my hands were so cold
the cigarette burned down and I never felt it, the angry words
were my bones,

fragile

I wanted to tell you we are always silenced
eventually,

like a first kiss, the tentative touch,
the disappointment

of the fumbling hands, the dark
in between

and how if you lived a little closer I would
kiss you properly, the sweetness of words
on lips

the morning newspapers
forgotten

the cigarette lost in the
ashtray, sending smoke signals up
to guide us home