love

[crossinghouses]

The sound of
hollow words resonating
in my head filling it
with echoes

Just like how you
used to fill
my body with
your presence

They say empty vessels
make the most noise
perhaps it’s why
I complain and you lie.

To be able to love
so much is
to be able to hurt
so much and

After all, Poetry
is an echo
asking a shadow
to dance.