to love only from afar
is a matter of hearts
begging to touch the other,
clad in drops of daylight,
mysteries of the night
as it calls upon
the dreary apparitions.

reaching out to grasp
nothing but the cold breeze,
the chimes of the forgotten fossils
of how we could have been.

you craft harmony
and rhapsody
with the way
you immesh your hands
with dust from the stars,
scraping against the sky.

this is poetry;
in its entirety,
soft and weak,
accepting as it goes;
made by the sound
of a blemished
and careworn heart
from heartbreak.

this is the
"could've"