i never formulated a complement so deep

i keep a notebook in my back pocket
but its contents is lacking
and its empty pages are just a reflection of who i am this week

and i hope you don’t read this for a while
but when i said this place isn’t the same
what i meant is that i’m not
my home is harder to find lately
and you know that by home i mean a poem
because that’s the only time i ever understand
but there is something you should know about the way i see you

and these pages burn me more that i ever thought possible
and as the rain just adds to the drama of my performance
my ink just bleeds

you are a poem as classic as a hemmingway
and as earth rattling as saul when he is on top of his game
you are the type of poem that speaks to the soul
but says something different every time its read
you are the type of poem i recite with my eyes closed
when i feel that the world has gone cold

and the rain starts again only to make me feel it
but the words have found me
so i guess all is getting better

in other words you are a requiem for the living
but one that i cannot sing
i am the creator of the tempest night, a peasant poet
where as you my dear are the poem
but being the poem
makes you my home by default
and i think that’s why i feel so alone