Seven is a Lucky Number
a poem by: Tara Walsh

Author's Notes:)Something I wrote for Mulder and season seven from 
a shippy pov.
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one
singular acknowledgement, a whim
salty seeds on a bittersweet tongue
a new year
a careless kiss is breath to the lungs
pleadings
and lies blacken the earth from cloud to hole,
dying there is the famishment of his soul
to a man who has glanced longingly on
to catch the changing visions of her face
and to bask in her light with an endless grace
all ends too soon in but an hour of the week
but in a second of time he has let us know
with unknowing callous sights
of gazes unmet with an inner yearning
that his heart is with ours but shyly
within philosophy and humor and self-discovery
his infatuations are denied