What am I To you?
A secret smile?
A guilty pleasure?
Or nagging burden?
The weight of your sins
Prolonging your grief
What am I to me?
An object of pride?
Or subject of scorn?
The butt of a joke?
What I try and hide
But cannot escape
What are you to me?
A moment’s daydream?
A light in the dark?
Possible future?
Or delusion to
Ease longing’s dull sting
They have replaced my broken
And tattered heart with a dead
Man’s, so now I can live. But
What will become of my soul?
Invisibly I
Glide through throngs who are
Enraptured by phones
Bitter catharsis
Leaves me drained, devoid,
Exhausted, reborn
I’ll chisel away
All the parts of you
That aren’t really you
When you walk through these
Nasty, mean streets, please
Protect your sweet feet
The membranous sky
Steals the heat I need
I wilt and perish
In this transient life I
Lead, I treasure the moments,
As they slide through my fingers
Steam rises as the rain strikes
Our reddened skin, mixes with
Our exhalations, passion
Herman’s Hermitage 