Some people can’t be reached no matter what you say,
Who probably wouldn’t care to feel your touch anyway,
And for all those who need, in some way, to be reached,
Our fingers might wave but they rarely ever meet.
In a dark windy heart there’s cracked glass in the rain,
Palms still untouched can be cut all the same.
Quieting the air with a gesture, I find
It helps, when you reach, to shield your hands with mine.
Those stinging cold moments with warmth underneath
Pour lakes into places overridden with dead leaves,
An Autumn-stained blush from a spring-tinted gaze
Briefly turn skies that were black back to grey.
Listens to Lo-Fi on her phone,
Admiring the nighttime lights of the city
Through streets blanketed with snow
Where unknown treasures are buried.
Cigarette to her lips
Alongside that sensation around her face,
The teeth of wind,
Is all the satisfaction she can take.
To have hung on,
Lived to see another illuminated night,
Stress momentarily forgotten
Despite the punishing nature of her drive
Is worth rewarding.
She needs something, after all.
Demands a moment that’s enjoyable.
Dawn spawns the first shadows
As she reluctantly remembers herself,
Retires behind her bedroom windows,
And waits until she can escape again.
To me, sad fantasy
Feels better than almost anything.
I’m aware, sensitive,
Permeated by waves of mood.
Is a distraction of hope.
Even the desires
That I pine for could do no more
Than teardrop chords
Dancing prettily down your face.
Most of us
Want affection in safe hands.
So do I,
But, they just never feel safe enough.
I’m most alright
When I’m thoughtful and alone,
And never more alive
Than listening to you sing sad songs.