will you ever catch my tears in a pale bowl
of laced fingers?
will you descend at the moment of integration?
when old wrecks resurface
ghosts man the rigging
and I
and in focus
strip the wallpaper and tear out
a sincere entreaty?
you were always my phantasm
a speck in the eye no cameras
could record
a step and a lifetime just beyond
my reach
I stretched out my hand in lost days
amber and ghostly lunar halo barred floor
saw the negative. but your shadow was only
ever that.
….
*sigh*
beautiful melancholy longing.
“a pale bowl of laced fingers” (i wish i had written that!!!!) is a lovely image.
in fact, i love the entire thing. i must make it one of my memories now so i can keep it somewhere…
i wish you posted poems more often. 🙂
Thank you!
i wish i had written that
Yeah, that line reminded me of you.
Unfortunately, me writing poetry seems to require seems to occur only under a rare combination of circumstances… I have to be up late, with no one to talk to, somewhat innebriated, and listening to mopey music.
For now, there’s always the archives, few as they are.
I was reading the poem, thinking, “Wow. What an amazingly gorgeous piece of work. I wonder who wrote…” and then I see your name on the side. LOL!
I concur, a pale bowl of laced fingers is perfect.
Aww, thank you dear 🙂