A poem for pining.
Shaky inhales of candle wisp,
between eyelids pregnant pinching glass,
lantern blurs of paprika hair,
dancing in a dream in her living room.
These days loosen my grip on the world,
I can feel the street lights dimming,
window shop art seeping paint
in my periphery,
through your walls
onto your fingertips
as you bring color to our tango,
as you play the piano of my heartbeat,
then wishful deliberations and almost memories
all at once shrink within a frame
and I grasp tightly, wishing so what never was.
