Jess Silva Poems

How am I supposed to appreciate love, if love doesn’t appreciate me.
The representation of love, is all wrong.
It seeps into corners and follows people around,
This idea of love that has been created,
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I watch your eyes, they refer to times left behind,
And these floors they fall away from us,
You close your hand around mine,
Because there is no space for this anymore,
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In the steady stream of moments,
Moments that expand and grow through this desert,
The searing cold burns these feet we walk on,
And the fog that follows us pulls us closer together,
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What hope is this for passing pairs, to see this open hole,
A chance to fall, to lust, to hold, an argument to be told.
The soft touch of new carpet laid, still leaves carpet burns,
If you rub hard enough, which you do, once, twice, three times.
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Judge what has been falling for some time,
These days are limited,
And yet we are fusing together,
What little time we may have left,
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The leaves are coming to life now,
And things keep on happening,
Like they always will.
It’s the spring now, and the blossom
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Guilt, Is a strange thing isn’t it, a moral compass,
A base of understanding, a shortness of breath,
A lack of freedom, a feeling of insanity,
And what is the answer?
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And maybe this love breaks, a tender whisper,
A heart that is open for all to see, a flower laid bare,
These rights and wrongs they have no place,
No act is too hard to follow,
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