IT’S 6 PM

 IT’S 6 PM.


The clouds are dark around me —

maybe they’re around you too.


Rain is falling on my skin —

maybe you’re inside, untouched.


The trees sway,

the wind brushes my face —

maybe that same wind stops at your locked door.


My skin is nervous under the rain —

maybe the rain longs to touch you.


My body shivers —

maybe your skin is warm, untouched by ache.


I see you… in the absence of you.

Your presence roams around me like a ghost.


Darkness covers my face —

a cage to my eyes.

Maybe it’s redemption to your body,

to walk freely.


I’m walking the road, eyes downcast,

but my soul — it’s gazing toward you,

aching to feel.


And your soul?

It whispers back to my eyes —

go away.


But my soul is deaf.

It doesn’t hear your whispers.


My eyes blur with longing,

unable to understand.


Say it louder.

My soul wants to know

what your soul is saying.


I wipe my blurry eyes —

Now speak.


I sense it —

your soul is irritated.


But what can I do?

I am intoxicated by you.


By the silence of your soul.

By its refusal to speak to me.

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