Mike Whittern

under the stars

and I would still

I have disregarded you

to so many women

and disregarded so many women

because their figures

did not fit

I write a lot

of broken heart

in words

that comes from a heart

that still beats

My screen is bright

but my reflection is mighty

because I see what I never thought I could

in the palm of my hand:

I love you

Like a child's concept of death

Warped and incomplete

Tainted by youth and naivety

And is that not

My fingers seize

as I try to write

the painful truth

and I don’t know 

if it is because

it is cold in here

or because they are tongue-tied

but the truth 

- no matter how painful -

spills from them anyway

be that in my sweat

or my blood

You treat my tongue

and hands

like the ocean,

call them tide,

and you send them out

knowing they’ll come back

to you

Your words do not hold 

the weight of the intentions

“Hello” I say

to your back

again

as you turn back

and answer the phone

and realistically

all that separates us

is this reception desk

and all the worlds

I take your hand between both of mine

and I feel the heat of your heart

bleed out through your palm

and I feel your heartbeat 

on your breath

and from behind your lips

a faint roar echoes

like an engine firing in a tunnel

or a heart longing to jump

out of your throat.

I let it

explode onto my tongue

and you do far more

You’ve changed your face again.

I hardly know you yet you’re my best friend,

still, the purest heartbeat that I’ve ever bled

you’ve had so many different names

and its almost as if

that after I forced myself to forget

what you looked like

for so long,

after the turmoil of the silence

that you stirred within me,

every version of you came back

and every version of you that I’ve never met 

introduced themselves to me

almost at once

and I see before me another different

yet oh-so-familiar face.