If I could press each thought I've spoken
into a dandelion head
and if 'promise' weren't a word,
then I'd promise you that I would.
Still, somehow I almost do with the look I just gave you.
But no sound is a word I could just leave there behind me.
Imagine this tugging,
I feel it
like tassels on a shadow moving across the floor.
Sometimes I can feel them dragging
there and exposed to the places I pass through.
But somehow they blend me
into the surface of this world.
And so I let them do it,
Blur my rigid outline
just to make me something more
than this shape your eyes have given me.