flyxtoxheaven

Worried Japanese Love Part One If I could speak your language, Love, we could share the stage, And your face would be in front of me Not on the video case. (Or photobooks, wherein you sprawl, Where you smile— and pose— In that cut-out world of You. Aishiteru, aishiteru, but no one knows.) I’d write you hiragana, Play script in vert’cal lines. But I write poems horizontal And I speak only sighs. (It’s plastic passion that I scrawl. But it’s real— so true— Worshipping your soul, your hands, Your acting, can’t help but aishiteru.) Part Two In your words, I could tell you