upon my heart
seems so distant.
I cannot hold
the imagine behind my eyes--
the sinister cherub
with liquid bronze skin;
A spirit adventurous
yet timid, romantic
yet cynical, remaining
ungraspable, remaining
gossamer, shimmering,
difuse, and yearning.
This prick,
within my skin
feels so hungry.
The self cannot,
should not, be divided.
Longing is mind, soul,
and body, wishing to
cherish, intertwine, and devour
this lingering, lovely,
and luscious vision.
This prick,
useless, unrequited,
for wherever I travel
she will remain
half a world away.