Tongue-borne honesty

Poetry is honesty, you always say
i honestly can't give up your ghost
i'll dress it with pretty words
make sense with nailed punctuation
but you will slip, chilling my fingers as you do
anyways

Poetry is a conversation
I'm turning knobs on a stereo that isn't there
mouthing songs that i cant hear
save for fleeting chords
and missed beats

Poetry is passion!
and your flame has scorched and thawed
brought life and devastation in your wake
and i am nothing but grateful for your purifying flames
to burn me asunder
to have cleansed me

Poetry is heartbreak.
its the scatter of your shattered visage
until each shard peeks at you, a stranger
unknown fragments claiming to be yours
piercing a new home in the gashed hangings of your cardiac viscera.

Poetry is your voice
a smouldering sunbeam sprinkled with succor
a cacophony of cresting crescendo
a tumult of thrashing tides 
a whisper worn in winter warmth

Your heart is poetry
it drips from your sprightly gait
springing moss from your every footfall
when you choose to walk that is,
you always did love the sweet crunch of petrichor between your toes