J_Kramer

Maybe it’s funny but every time I try to write about you, the words die in my throat.  Is it that I know too much?  Or too little?

You gave him the clouds, the sunsets, the stars.

You gave him your 3am wishes on mars.

You gave him 13 handwritten diary entries,

You gave him enough pen ink for centuries.

He gave you a rose, the 26th on December.

When I opened my eyes
I saw that my body was no longer mine
but the body of a stream
I was strong
Strong enough to carve rocks
to shape stone
Yet you couldn't hold me in your hands
for I would seep through your fingers