Twenty two years ago I already knew I’d run to you.

Love.

I didn’t know I’d be running from, too.

Who keeps teaching us that we need relationships to accentuate our greatness? How are we to define ourselves when we are constantly looking for someone else to help conceptualize us?

I’m not chasing, anymore, and yet shorty you keep swinging my way. When my hugs stared in your eyes and the vibrations of my chords grabbed your soul you didn’t know if we were music or noise.

you asked me to show you but your lips dance all day. take your headphones off so you may see.

chose the lavish.

so we’re the latter.

now.

and grass don’t even grow there.

My falsetto moonwalks at the tip of my tonsil when it grips the idea of you.

You who asked me to teach you visual-kinesthetically

but closed your ears to see me.

Can you not feel the raspiness begging for clarity? I was stutter step chasing while you square danced around me.

Now my falsetto can rest as even it won’t wait; time. I choked on freedom trying to be a singer but the tone is forgettable. The melody regrettable. The vocal impressionable.

twenty two years ago I already knew I’d chase, but could not have guessed I’d run, too, from you.

Love.

I’m caught up.

Time is working with me. Even if I never catch you, the ball touched my hand, I should have.

When the lids of my eyes kiss, they stare into my soul which dances to the noise remnant of music. The vocal unforgettable, tone comfortable, the melody rhythmical.