I keep seeing your eyes
and I wonder where they look when
the wilderness creeps up from the side of the road
and your camera strap starts digging into those
thin shoulders. You carry so much,
and it’s beautiful how you still stand tall,
exquisite limbs stretched upwards like the
reach of those trees. I see your
hope for something more like
clarity, but I can’t stop my hands from
trembling at the thought of being so much
less than
every waking moment you take the time to
breathe, because your dresses only
fall so perfectly on your
frame, I can’t help but feel like you’d
wither under my touch, but I love to
watch the world burn and your
eyes would fuel me to
keep going.
I wonder if renaissance feels anything like
the long of your arms wrapped around my
neck while we slow dance to some song we’ve
never heard. I wonder if my racing thoughts bring
anything other than regret to the length of your
spine, wondering how far is too far if we’re
given enough time.
Distance is nothing but a warm embrace,
the safety of too far from our fingertips
wondering about the other, keeping you
company on long drives as you toy with the
hem of your dress when stuck in traffic.
You’re the purest of lakes,
the racing of streams, the
crawl of an ocean washing up at my feet
and I’ve tried to run away but the
tide just keeps rising, and your
skin in my hands feels like
a drug I can’t quit. I breathe you in,
cigarette breath, and you can’t help but feel
that something worthwhile comes from my
slow death, too busy imagining life
from behind a crackling phone call,
thousands of miles from home.
And you’re alone out there,
and you wear it so well,
I couldn’t dare tarnish such a
galaxy.