By Shawn Marc B. Carreon
The spaces between my fingers,
Wanting to be filled,
But your presence is sufficient,
To my delusional state.
I never thought that silence could be loud,
As we walked towards our past between crowds,
Collecting their words linked to our own,
I go back while you stay in the present.
We accept it’s quiet adversary,
Where I see it in your eyes,
You seem tired of what I can offer,
My eyes respond with a blink that suffers.
I’ve learned to see what love has more to offer,
Flaws and such become it’s burning passion,
It begs us to try and float upon reasons,
Reasons…A lame excuse for avoiding the truth.