“Letters for the Hidden Face”

As a bee searches for nectar,
she trusts the flower that nourishes her.
As a parrot learns the language of humans,
she risks error,
the fragment of sound:
mispronunciation,
misunderstanding,
the ache of being heard imperfectly.

I search for you
in hidden places,
not because I do not desire safety,
but because love has taught me risk—
how to loosen my grip on comfort,
how to call surrender devotion,
how to rename control as connection.

I give myself away
in small poetic gestures,
sacred ways
to hold you once more,
to touch your face,
If only for a moment
you refuse to name.

Why do you keep hiding your face from me,
when you know this love,
though imperfect,
is honest,
and stands naked before your eyes,
asking only to be seen?

You choose secrecy.
I make my love known.
You choose silence.
I answer with poetry.
You love in whispers
and call it protection.
I write you love letters
and risk the world
knowing my name through yours.

You let this love burn inside me
without asking
how much it hurts—
how this passion unravels me,
how heavily it weighs,
how much of myself
it consumes.

Like a house set ablaze
from the entrance room,
like a burning bush
that devours my flesh.

It suffocates my breath,
drains my ability
to love anew,
to write the poems
that would keep you
living.