How many poems can I write about longing?
How many veiled references to secret affection?
How many ciphered love letters?
Been awhile since my last synthesized love affair.
Even longer since I played with the idol of poetry.
O, do you ever encourage me.
I know that I'm not yet allowed to say much.
So I write and write and write and spill it all.
Spinning grandeur from hope and maybes?
Maybe, but I justify and rationalize and say
At least I'm not mailing perfumed letters.
At least I'm not breathing hints on Facebook.
Am I hoping you'll find them all?
Anticipating the day you google my name
Decrypt, break code, interpret freely?
I'm playing with the fire that the spark
of my words could ignite in an instant
the one that will eventually escape
burning us both?
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