The opaque fog of midsummer night,
I only linger long enough for your sigh
and then I carry away,
maybe a moment before you can.

Where did the time go for a hundred indecisions?
Eyes, unfocused on the bleary screens
of this modern vision,

connecting the distance with the rapid movement
of mechanical, well-oiled fingers
to sculpt the exact nuance of our meaning,
but it’s all so limiting.

It’s easier to muse instead
with the warmth of this muddy coffee -
(two more teaspoons of sugar, please)
a new dance to save my sanity.

Your presence a catalyst for a reason,
to figure out,
to assort and craft,
a draft for the next silent move -
my method so stealthy,
soaking in the obscuring smog
of a fading city.

Should I disturb you?

Like a distrustful feline,
defamed by an infant’s desire,
you are compelled to defy instinct,
but you’re here.

I want to shred it all – in pulsing, hot rage
tear apart your elementary concepts
or Platonic ideas,
skewed visions of the future,
split the illusion of victory –
into shards of glass.

But I cannot connect in any other way.