He said

He said stop writing and talk to me,
I said nothing because the scratching of pen onto paper;
Is silent to my ears like a memory
nd I didn’t know I had woken him.
He said lying in the darkness,
trying to part the air with his breath-
that I should take a break.
But there wasn’t time to gauge his reaction,
I turned his fleshy outline into a notebook.
I re-wrote the dimensions of our relationship
before he woke, laced up his tie like a second chance.
I said I don’t want to bore you
but what I really meant was-
you’ve seen me carry these poems
like bill boards across my body for so long.
You cannot separate me
from the papery surface of my bones.
He said I needed more sleep,
I replied with a quote by Shane Koyczan.
The slam poem I recited at 2am in the morning
his words were as good as a lullaby.
Like trying to hoax a one year into sleep
when they’ve just experienced living.
I said I’ve always known that ink is my blood stream
and I spent many nights between rows of words,
like the arms of a lover trying to calm night mares,
before I ever met you.