I keep moving this pen on paper in order to make meaning out of you:
mold you, shape you, compare you to others things; the abstract, the personified,
the known and unknown, the desires
and possessions, all those treasures that lie in the alcove of a dusty attic somewhere in my mind.
But my words bemuse me.
Every time I reach for the pen it drifts off into the thousand folds of clouds
Hovering in meaninglessness and the curves of a few abstract lines.
Every time I reach for you, you recede by coming closer
I hold you in my hand and pet you
Lay velvet kisses on your golden cheeks and watch you drift away in sleep.
Eyes shut, but it’s me who’s dreaming in this trance
Moving my lips to wrap around ether. I look like a fool, I know, I know…
Licking the breeze, digging fingers into the moist earth,
standing there naked with an erection to pierce time itself.
But it’s mid-August, midnight, and I’m mid-way through this life
Surely I can afford all this foolishness.