On Mornings in Winter

sometimes, i am
too many words
tumbling out in a disjointed rush
and then more
to make sense
of the first

i am fast-forward, chipmunk voice
sped up like old filmstrips
running away with the show

i know what i'm trying to say
in my haste i get lost
on the way

there are stories to tell
and things i'm in love with
i can't wait to share
with the world

anger, indignant rage
passion falls out of my mouth
i am vomiting thoughts

and i think it might be more revolting to you
than the real thing
bitter and vile

but the silences fall in between
like the soft spring rain
warm and the sunlight remains while it falls

and it feels like you're inside my mind
sharing thoughts
when we finally speak
the words are the same

and the softness of us, the quiet, the still
is the moonlight that fell on us
back in october
the stars were all ours
and they gave us the silence
we needed to breathe
to give in

we are the long stretch of black on the highway
the rushing-by headlights
the touch of a hand that says
everything
i need to hear.