Shaking out the moon, curved
appendages around the keys,
honesty shaped like poetry, a short
breath of total exhaustion.
The sun shares light for the time being,
sheds light on black walls with little revelation,
while we wait for meetings or closure or dances,
miles away from alien contact.
I long to feel the sky, nestled sweet conflict
between the knuckles, skin so sharp it would
break in two and show signs of wear -
like hearts or clothes or smiles,
or maybe emotions.
I want to hear music through the warm tunnel
of your throat, fighting every urge to share
trivial memories to win your favor, brief
and with little focus, comfortably distracted
by the quiet echo of your pupils.
I wish I had words made of sugar to extract
a smile the size of this imperfect distance, broken
only by flashing screens and conversations
made of electricity, a gift worth the price of night.
I hope your smile outlasts the moon,
and, perhaps, this lost connection,
moments falling out of the sky like
snowfall on the edge of Spring,
standing too close to the drop to
ever notice or focus or stare.
I hope your dreams secure that smile
as you sleep on shifting shapeless clouds
and these fleeting snowflakes bring you
nothing short of happiness and comfort
and a temporary cure of boredom,
an affliction we've all dealt with.
I hope your smile is as real as vivid dreams,
close enough to notice and focus and share.
