Love?

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We are twin souls. Of that I am convinced.
but he exudes brilliance, while I
don’t.

In my shy introversion, I listen as
he speaks my poems
—though he has never read them—
so eloquently, so passionately
—but those aren’t even the right words
to encompass the perfection
of his speeches, his ardent rants
he proclaims to an awed class
of his fastidiously superficial,
largely unthinking peers

I want to talk to him
I want to have one of those meaningful conversations
that are so rare
as few bother to question anything,
as most remain passive succumbers
to the vicious cycle of hereditary thought





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