in the youth of the morning
a glass figurine grasps rays of light
the sun graces his soft contour
radiant colors bouncing off the
***** surface of the table
the dust does not near his skin
his lineament is something i saw once
in a dream, across the ocean.
do i brave those tumultuous waters?
to what end?
so that my fingertips may keep their distance?
so that we may breathe the same air?
so that our eyes may burn under the same sun?
my wistful dreaming knows
not reason but the desire
to witness the distant diamond
glinting like the stars
that beg me to drown in hopeless ventures
yet my lungs would happily fill with saltwater
if only my skin could know
the touch of an untouchable