I peek around bookends to be the one
you see when you look up
or know you, in this banker's light
rooms red
to soothe your spindly spirit out

but you look on
above margins, past me
sexless, shifting your seat to be unseen
I lean into the profile, waiting

Who could love you,
would you let inside
for a quick glance into your chamber
where one hand sleeps?

I ask if I have enough to entice
a nimble mind, half-grazing
this same plane

I've loved you and still
you tidy away
where you leave the window open

I seek to lock my wrists around you
be only your earth orbiting safely, slowly
above your index finger

to watch the rain with you, the purple clouds
to be spilled on your sores from battles
too old for you to speak of
so well, as though you'd been there

I get lost in your maze, twisted and humbled
coming out another side, reduced.

Log in or register to write something here or to contact authors.