What would it be, to never have been known?
Sometimes I wonder what the rest of the world sees.
Shadows pressing in on shadows, other bodies
little more than air
sometimes tasted when the wind blows heavy
and the flavor seems something more of salt and rain.
Bodies dancing in the dark--
shaded like vapors wreathed in pressured heat.
What I want is more.
Solid as an apple core reposing, under a tree,
where it has been devoured
known in the truest sense,
part of someone else's essence now.
We look to the stars, forgetting the same shimmer
of each other's eyes. Searching for signs,
knowing the symbols of our hands are not nearly enough.
The ground is covered in toe tripped placards,
each breathing heavy.
Nothing to see here--
move along, move along, keep eyes front, never press
into the same floor as mine.
I wish I could act as some shadow's cue ball,
crashing into other bodies, sending them spinning,
wild with wonder--
the knowledge that this caress is harsh,
but somehow enough.