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I Think You Are... My Answer
How my breath aches
For a trace
Of the paragraphs she left behind --
They linger in the wind...
They rustle leaves --
They pass through pupils...
Extract tears
And what they mean.
A spectrum of fears
Encompassed
And safeguarded
In her palm...
Closed up.
Fist to the stars�
Question:
What intersection
Did I cross tonight
To leave me
Under the gloss
Of your shine
And light divine?
Question:
How did I ever make
A distant yearning
Something tangible,
So close, it's burning?
Question:
What do I do with
The clay you have given me,
Except
Mold a sticky monument
To the ways we'll stay together.
If I gave you a cup,
Would you pour into it
Through emotional funnels
My lines liquefied?
And if I gave you a palette,
Could you capture the colors
That bleed from my eyes?
Accept my token --
Modest in all its approach
And broken existence,
But let me get close,
And you'll see
How it sews up
The unending distance...
