Being with you was as natural
& frustrating as writing is.
Sometimes I just couldn't explain you.
I didn't know what you were trying to be.
I couldn't find the right shape for you,
your structure escaped me.
I felt like I was climbing up a pile
of my discarded words.
I felt like it was all wrong
& no one wanted to see me desperately
try to make sense of something.
No one wanted to see me analyze
the smallest sentences.
But other times, you came to me
just because I thought of you.
You knew without me having to say.
You tore down doors.
You spread over me easily.
Your mouth was starved for
my vowels crying out.
Every part of me felt inspired.
When we were on the same page,
I never wanted to stop reading it.