wanting what i can’t have-
thoughts, dreams and nonsensical madness.
32 days since the brushstroke of your finger tips
landed on my body
lit by soft light
soft skin on soft skin;
the purest of forms
stone and brick and stairs
fog washes out the rain of winter
spring comes; goes
your memory remains
etched behind eyes that may themselves not last as long
and your voice.
because those that we love most are those that pain us the most
and tomorrow i wake up and chose to be beautiful
another day without hearing your voice or seeing your eyes
another day indirectly with you
hello. i’m here.
waking in wandering in wondering for reason.
how silk webs can construct souls.