You always say the same thing
as if there’s one rule that applies to everything.
Be succinct.
Don’t carry extra baggage.

It’s true, in this way,
you can create a beautiful image –
but it’s not one I’d want to take home,
or feed,
or bring to bed.

I like a little clutter
to fill the empty spaces
between thought and sound.

And so – As a result – or, maybe coincidentally,
I like a poem that looks lived in,
like a 7 year old pair of shoes
that you just can’t bear to part with.

You always say the same thing:
that words, like change,
need to be saved for a rainy day.

And I always say the same thing back:
If you can’t hear the sound of the wind
rattling the panes
when I exhale,
it’s because you’re not listening.