You’re just a silhouette,
cut against a blue sky,
far away from me;
can’t trace your lines,
but I keep trying
as your shadow grows.
I wish we never met.
I used to be serene,
but I like the melancholy,
the way it tugs me.
You make me sad-happy,
happy to be sad,
glad to be alone.
Every mile spreads our hearts thin,
but they beat together still.
Apart, but I feel you,
when your ghostly shape
whispers and a chill—
You know what I mean
goosebumps and a thrill.
I’m a cold son of a bitch,
draping your length
over my shoulders,
folded to huddle
in front of a modern-day hearth.
O-LED, leading me to waste away,
watching souls sway,
communing with trapped spirits,
dancing the decay of our society
as our values grey and I unzip.
Sipping filtered water,
thinking filtered thoughts,
and I am what I’m not—
a shadow, a specter,
an echo caught
in the night,
or even by your light
but I’ll never know it,
though you might,
shining like you do.
And I’m not good enough,
and I’m not strong,
and I’m not brave,
and I don’t make mistakes.
And I think about you too much,
so here I am, as I am,
or as I’m not,
resonance with either thought.
Just hold me close once,
to pretend to touch—
trachea, bronchial,
uvula, and my tongue’s full,
words tangled,
caught in your hair
again, finger brush,
harbinger of flush
as weaved braids.
You can’t breathe,
but you’re ready to live
among the famous,
because you’re my star,
falling as you play
the greatest hits,
dulling bits,
so hard;
now lost in the midst.
-N&A
