It was February of this year.
I've noticed your frailty ---
lips locked like I'm about to
lose my sense of self..
like I already have.
while the ghosts
graze my neck-line ---
no longer did I fear,
no longer did I notice the crowd,
just the outline of your jean pocket.
I wanted to steal
no sentient being deserves you.
no celestial deity governs you.
the thought of bleak nothingness
after death never frightened me
before I met
you are the only one who can judge me.
we are past the connections and the niceties,
there is an unimaginable force that is paralyzing,
and all it takes is a simple glance.
that's not normal. it's just not.
you are the still-frame of a moment that
you destroy me in the most enlightening way possible.
I remain as nothing in your absence, a ghost
grazing your neck-line.
If I never see you again,
it is only because I'm trying to lengthen my life, ironic...
because you make me feel like I'm alive.
It is March of this year.
I've noticed my frailty.