The Sin of Oneness #39

The signal wavers, sometimes
hard like a sun I turn to,
strain my neck muscles to reach,
expose as much skin I can
stretch, and other times, a star
in the distance, barely light
enough to reach. I must stare
into that absent corner
of the sky, let my wide eyes
adjust to nothingness, and then
when I have come to believe
I am praying to nothing,
then a soft wink, subtle nudge,
hint in the vicinity
of my longing blushes up,
and with it, all the other
stars I had not yet spotted,
whole galaxies of pinprick
veins yet to tap, sequences
of stories to make from this.
My purpose is in looking
into the long boundless face,
searching seemingly endless
eyes for just a hint, a bit
of something I remember,
my hand to my nose to scratch
an old itch. I held you once
in what evolution’s named
a kiss, and then you took off.
Ever since I have written,
called, spent my nights pondering
your existence. And just when
madness comes to collect me,
when bitter cold, smog and trees,
my own lazy willingness
to sleep anywhere, consume
anything to forget. Word,
ocean, cold ground on bare feet,
night sky, a wink, a kiss.



A day is not done, until it's filled with words.

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