red stains, fading, cracked, scented
if i kissed your prints, would they kiss me back?
sighs, thoughts, spaces between prints
spaces between words, between parted lips and floating thoughts the world! is so crowded with space but yours is the one i want to fill .
but where are the lines? lines of loss, lines of lawns, lines of ink and rips and more stains and letters, in the hands and on the pavement
where are the lines?
why won't you go there?
why do you hover in these foul, indomitable spaces? why do you seek that which you should not?
if the shadow of lines slinks in your quiet expression, then why are you still here?
if the echo of your soft face lingers in my hands, if the whisper of your breath and the heat of your skin still singes my own, then why do you disappear?
lovely wraith, lovely memory of a thing that once was, why do you sit so alone?
because i am coming to your space, and if you can see me, of shadow and fog, then i will meet you there,
on a line of our own.
>because it's a death premeditated and i can see it unfolding,
sharp wounding painful
and the discourse in the sky is telling me so, yet why do i keep walking west?
lots of questions (this isn't a poem of answers. don't look for one).
