Dip
Your
Fingertips
In
No ..
That sounds gross
My mind
Sickening-ly
Deep
Like the darkness
Haunting your wardrobe
While you look for sleep
Pretending it's the wind
That makes that old door of yours creak
Whispers creeping along the shadows
Of things you would rather read
Than see
In reality
Poetry.. like the moon
Orbiting.. space
Lighting up the dark
That looms
Over my face
Beautiful.. though locked up
In distant place
Reaching me
From where
I cannot reach
A cuisine
Of constellations
I cannot taste
I describe it
Desire it
Just like the picture
Of one I held dear
No longer with us
If only I could
Dip
My fingertips
Into the past
And rip
Away the faults in our stars
Then..
I awake
"When you would grasp the world..
But it eludes you"
I'm an unfinished poem
Bereft of the rhyming word
That would turn this plain prose
Into a "shaken" not "stirred"
Drip Drip
I lose my grip
But at least the moon
Shan't forget
My fingerprints
