Semicolon

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