vagabondprophet:

Talking to Myself

If I write you a thousand words

Will you see the picture?

Of me alone and wanting you.

If I write ten thousand words

Will you receive the comic strip?

A scene, a day in the life, lacking the warm touch of your breath.

Or maybe this

Won’t work that way

Maybe I’m just

Talking to myself

First tendrils of madness

Soaking in like butter

On warm bread.

It tickles.