Maybe I Should Stick to Prose: Five

7 Feb

Visions Across an Empty Room

I could feel my eyes tire,
as my voice began to falter,
fading into fragments.

I could feel him pull me close,
as quiet, ghostly fingers traced the
frail imperfections upon my trembling skin,
left frigid by the clouds,
unwilling to give shelter from
the cold memories of the stars.

The numbness I thought would never fade,
gave way to something small,
the slightest shiver.
My eyes fluttered.

I drew a ladder that stretched
through the black.
I scanned the barren sky
for a hint of the inevitable,
for a remnant of the past;
nothing but the moon remained.

Time hung still as I placed
my hand upon the next rung.
A shadow reached out to me;
a soft murmur called to my ear,
leaving the smallest of hairs to quiver.
Disquiet dissolved in our laughter.

There was a rush,
an excitement,
from the mystery of a moment
skirting past our lips.
We hadn’t the slightest of
what we were doing,
or where we were going.

We had anything and
everything in front of us,
just within reach.
It was all we had ever wanted.
That was our confession.
Whispered words echoed across the
sky on the assuring night’s breath.
A rare truth.

We flew on a hope, a dare;
waxen wings outstretched,
fingers sculpting the air.
Again we were children;
softened features caressed
the watery reflections that
rippled beneath our toes.

All the could have been’s,
that might have been’s,
that never were’s,
gurgled at us
from their shallow graves,
just beneath the surface;
we took no notice.

I could feel the wind change;
a warm current circling,
tasting my bare shoulder.
The long curve of my neck twisted
to catch his eye across my shoulder,
softly peering into mine;
the perfect shot.

I slipped my hand down to my side,
expecting to take hold of something,
of anything.
But I was only met
with cold emptiness,
who’s narrowed eyes
were cruel and unforgiving.

I always had a hard time
deciphering my dreams from reality.
I could never quite put my finger on it.
Perhaps they were one in the same.


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