looking at you.

  the wrest of images
  which imaginary kisses
  have real warmth,

  and that i,
  dazed into a normal thing,
  demarcated in the abyss of
  this lonesome wanting,
  have been reaching out
  into the palpable distance,
  your image elusive of my grasp

    like a thing
         that refuses
            to be
              pinned
                down.