think i need to stop writing about you
in subtle and bold forms
wrapping my pen around thoughts of you
that weave a thread of unconsciously
conscious memories that spill out in black ink
piled high in secret notebooks
stashed away in the folds of my pillow case
that never need to be read again
memorized line by line and even those in between
how many times can i say what i say
without saying what i'd really like to say
if you've figured it all out
what are you waiting for
here's my key
there's the door