Speaking of my
addiction, it resides in
those hazel eyes.
A place I can feel,
a place where
love lives without the
translation of lies.
She’s the margin on
my page, the semicolon
that connects our clauses.
She’s the cream in
my coffee,
the tea in my cup.
She’s the pulse in
my poetry, the quickening
of my beating
heart.
From the field, she
materialized. It was right
then that I realized:
the importance of this
connection. Our
communication moves
in the same direction.
No misdirection, no
indiscretion,
no fracture in veracity.
It’s all truth,
worthy of protection.
— Noeticnonsense