Your fingerprints are all around me, making it hard for me to see my own.
Like permanent scars they define us, written in words we don't understand.
I could follow your trail from my hips to my feet, caught around my ears, they drift across my nose.
My own can be traced to the place where confusion starts and stops.
Secrets lie in their curves.
Stronger than their definition is our desire.
Fingerprints.

Lingering touch, you know far too much to mean nothing.
Your words are fatal, ******* me into the middle, driving their implications into my thoughts.
Labeling movements, define our lies, making false truths.
I search for you in my anger, not looking far, knowing you are out of my reach.
Our apologies like hymns are recited everyday.
Like fire in brush, this all happens in a hush.

Winter night of delight, why do you deceive me.
As morning breaks, dawn takes my last regrets.
Setting sun, let things be done, let your words not forsake me.
Drifting dreams,rip at the seams.
Our lies drift from the skies.

There are small imperfections in the way you move.
You have bent elbows that will not straighten, always looking for something to wrap around.
Your fingers will trace, across every line, and every place, but they don’t leave any marks.
There are hiccups in your speech, they leave gaping holes where you thoughts echo for no one to hear.
You step cautiously , your feet not quite hardened. They never seem quite as strong as they need to be to take you where you thing you belong.
Your eyes blink more than mine, releasing images you want left behind.
But your feet will take you where you belong. when you get there you won’t need to blink, you’ll close your eyes. Your thoughts wont echo, they will spill. And when you trace you’ll find the empty space of your bent elbow where only a few inches up there is proof you can’t deny.

Incomplete is my love for you,
always longing for more to hold onto.

Incomplete is the way I see the world
so many corners , doors and windows not explored.

Incomplete is the way you smile,
lies told dancing across your lips.

Incomplete is the cold wind,
stalling the snow stealing the leaves.

Incomplete are my hands,
gaping holes between my fingers.

Incomplete is the night,
sleep lost on its journey.

Incomplete is this poem,
for your eyes may see it, but your heart will never know it.

Your words twist on the page
                     Tangling my thoughts

Your fingers tangled in mine
                     Twist the very definition of who we are

Define "us"
    
This may be the last word you have yet to master
                      Followed closely by love, living, and disaster

I waited for him that Fall. I stood right where he left me waiting for him to come back.
    The path pulled the leaves over it, preparing for the cold winter. I tried to remember what it looked like, your foot prints next to mine.
                               Spring came... you didn't.
     I waited as long as I could, wishing, hoping, praying that the words you whispered, that had long ago blown away in the wind had gotten caught in the trees. That the rain might bring them back to me.
     I held my breath every time a bird sung, not wanting to miss its song in case it was the one you sang to me.
     At nigh I laid under the stars watching them, the only witnesses . I wanted them to shine your name, point me in your direction, just replay me what they saw if that's all I could have .
     I touched the tree you first kissed me under, placing my hands, my fingers where yours were the last time you kissed me.
     I waited well into summer hoping that you just couldn't find the path, that new flowers and grass had grown over it , that the dry river we walked had filled...
             only to find the leaves changing again, the path covering, everything turning cold.