Curiosity 

Human communication is difficult, confusing and slow,
We're all so easily lied to, manipulated, and misled
Down conversational alleyways we'd rather not go:
and I just wanted to see inside your head.

So sleep and rhyme and reason I'd forgo,
Long nights I'd shirk the warmth of my bed
Constructing a machine which could bestow
The gift of telepathy into narcisstic bipeds.

Such a foolish idea: but I just had to know
and from simple conversation, I'd always fled
I feared that I might find your cortex aglow
With hatred, suspicion, mistrust, and dread

Instead, what I found triggered a far deeper pall:
It turns out you don't think about me at all.

nan watching Barry Manilow clips on youtube at 2am on a Wednesday
 
your cheeks puff to spheres only rivalled by globes
you’ve been all over, crooning to ladies and gentleman
on every continent, breaking hearts with the blink of a twinkling,
squinting eye.
 
were you singing just to me Barry? or was it my dream,
listening to you, on a beach in Brazil, my tan matching yours
bronze as a medal, or one of your awards that line the shelves
of your mind, you gazing at me with the adoration, like I was
a crème brulee or a particularly beautiful microphone,
or Farrah Fawcett, risen from the grave with poodle curls still
intact and bouncing.
 
none of those other singers have a hold on me- Bacharach couldn’t compare
Bob Dylan can bog off, none of them, have that intangible,
glossy gorgeous tone you capture, in your skin and your voice,
oh how I long for you to hold me in your lightly muscled arms
I don’t mind the surgery or the Botox, no one’s perfect,
(apart from you that is) you are my idol, love, the golden calf I worshipped to a
syncopated beat, (of your latest album).
 
in my wildest fantasy,
we ride through a desert together, you in deepest black, I cool,
but elegant in white. we contemplate the sunset. I massage your bunions.
 you kiss my thrombosis, we linger in the sand, enjoying the pleasure
of each other’s company. I beg you to sing me a song, you,
embarrassed, glance away.
 
you can’t deny me anything though, you naughty boy
you begin one of my favourites,
this one certainly is for me, I am  a lucky gal,
your easy glide from loud to soft, the lyrical joy of your vibrato
sends quivers down my jelly thighs, Bazzer
I know you’re a far off celebrity, a man
destined for men better than the likes of me, and my
double hip replacement  but 
Bazzer, be mine?

The quiet voice speaks the loud voice away

Seek knowledge even unto China
             Hadith (considered weak) of the Prophet Muhammad SAWS

I raised my hand and asked quiet questions.
The voice that moved in mountains and opened waters
filled my ears with beauty, but not answers.

Tell me why you chose this language,
tell me why more stick than carrot,
tell me why anyone must burn,
tell me why

There are some questions that we should not ask,
but Satan filled my mouth with question marks.

Tell me why you came so late
tell me why they die so young,
tell me why the smokeless fire,
tell me why

If you are so beautiful, why are we ugly?
If we are so weak, why do you test us?
If you are so big and we are so small, why do you care
what we wear, what we say, what we eat,
why do you care at all?

And like a river whispering for a thousand years
speaks a mountain into sand,
my quiet voice with words like feathers
spoke the loud voice into silence.
​
There are some questions that we should not ask.
May God forgive me and my question marks.