'nother one

[lunesque]

Kinda sounds unfinished to me, but yeah.



There is something about you that I cannot quite define.
Being a woman is not something I would suggest
(and indeed, this is one venture where I hope
you do not follow my example)
but the experience has changed the way I view
some things;
certain things.

I have never been a poetic man
And so struggle for the appropriate rhythm
of these words;
I find myself wondering what chasm exists between poetry and prose
besides a marked increase of peculiar line breaks
and flowery words.
What can I tell you in these stilted phrases
that I cannot say in the appropriate way of ink and paragraphs?
What force causes me to break the solidity of non-poetical words
into shattered, stutter-step moments of ink?
(Like the story of my heartbeat, which I never told you—
its steady pounding that I never notice
until you step into the room and it falters.
And I wonder, that if by changing my heartbeat
You change my heart as well.)