how does my smile sound?

my poems seem so flat

since i saw you

pricking your words into

the paper in patterned dots

i wish i too could tattoo

my pain into it

the way you

punch in your thoughts

i hesitate to go up

to you and talk

coz i’m afraid i can’t

fool you with  my smile

and you’ll see me

for who i really am

and all my pretenses

will be futile

you sit there so

composed so serene

and when i start talking

your eyes

don’t give you away

and so i turn

to your lips to see

what you think of me

i wish i could do

an etching of you

or a woodcut maybe

and taking your hand

show you the curls

of your hair or the lines

of your nose or of

your profile as you stand

and while i wonder

if you wonder

what the person you’re

talking to looks like

you ask me about

the tree outside

because you heard

the rustling leaves