The Notebook

I want somewhere quiet to pin you  
down and disarm you with words -  
uttered sounds  
that carve your shadow out and keep it,  
bare, barely, folded between pages fingered  
only by me.
 
I want somewhere quiet to draw you  
out as if a mating call, songs your friends
and mine  
wouldn't know how  
to sing, penned hot-handed upon nettles  
- each letter  
lit, stung.  
 
I want somewhere loud where I can hold the congregation -  
speak our truths in echoed halls,  
long after balls of aching have fallen dry  
from my eyes, from yours,  
when silent pages and stolen songs are all we seem, dipping in and out,  
and I'll gift those moments to everyone to share,  
so bare,  
 
barely.