Fingerprints.

things make fingerprints on your heart
and i hope that never changes
those impressions you get, the feelings only a melody can explain —
your sixth sense has grown into something lovely and high above us all
in a realm we can't reach
but it's enough to catch a glimpse from time to time
you really do grasp the world, even if not with words
and i hope that never changes.

don't try to be an activist. or win a nobel prize.
just keep being the soft song in our heads
telling us we can do it.
you're the only reason i think i might have changed a life —

To My Unidentified Love Interest (insert name here)

I'm a poet. It's what I do.
So let's have a conversation.

First, to you. Unnamed. The offer stands —
"Oh, all right, stay. You've got my attention.
Oh, all my pain is bottled affection.
I see the weapons; I pulled out;
I met my match, so why am I so proud?"
Dress it up with a steady walk and a pair of blue eyes, and who can resist? —

Then, to You. Indescribable. The answer evades —
"I'm not the same kid. I grew up.
Didn't I? Or did I get stuck?"
Stargazing is like time travel.
There are places where I was a person.
But I go back and find that the edges of my heart are too far to reach at lightspeed —

I feel I am redshifting.
I think of you through the watches of the night.
Here you go, a handful of flatlined words. Courtesy of your lost nomad.

Save me.