The Things That Pain Me

What are the things that
Make me seem like a
Thread of ball
Rolling downhill
Towards the sea -
incapable of treading
and resurfacing towards the
Indistinct water?

What are the things that pain me?
A rubber ducky left alone
in a draining bath tub,
A lone rose desiring sun
and trying to shield itself
Against the stormy wind

What are the things that pain me?
The intimate sound of your voice
Puncturing my insides like I was
Made of stone,

The way you held my hand like it was
The last thing you want to hold

What would be the things that would be painful?
The long separation from your longing kiss,
The sinking feeling of seeing you far,
Not finding me.

The end of my never-ending dreams
Of you holding me like you do to her.

What I Think of You

What do I think of you?
A million times asked,
A million times vaguely answered.

What do I think of you?
I can say you're a firefly
Against my endless evening sky,
The joy
In each moment's passing ploy,
And I can also start to dwindle my words
To passing
Just to make you feel good.

Honestly, what do I think of you?
You're my pianist,
who plays with notes like they're part of life,
whose fingers dances on the white keys
Like it was a bridging gap,
whose wrists do not touch,
because music is delicate.

And what do I think of you?
I ask over and over again.

Honestly, what do I think of you?
The person, who, I'm afraid to lose
Because you were the one
Who gave me something to hold on to.
The person I dream of
Every moment of the day, and every second of the night,
The person I've been longing for all my life
The person I wish to hold in my arms
Like today is the last.

And you ask me again,
"What do you think of me?"
I could say many possible words,
But I could only stare and,
Smile, making my eyes wrinkle,
And mutter,
"I think you're great. She's lucky."
She really is.