Without Proper Practice

And now all I am to you, is just a series of near misses. That almost intersected but never did.

I am slowly falling through this space time

One with early morning hours

And inhaling this city’s natural

           Fog

And the only thing I can make out

                In the distance

Are illuminated screens

Feeding into the minds of the illing public

 

I can assure you

Though my eyes are gouged out

All the same

These telescopic fingers of mine

Search the universe for your friendly eyelashes to

                      Pluck

 

You should know

That these oceanic arms

Are still learning how to squeeze

                      You

In just the right places             

Despite this distance

And I’m sorry

                          If these arms don’t squeeze you tight enough

 

I’ve never been good at the art of

                      Holding someone

You

It’s always been way to much weight

For these arms to bare

Despite the pressures of

                      Atlantic depths

I have become so accustomed too

 

And now there are more than just mountains

Separating us

Because I crash landed somewhere on

                      Jupiter

And though there are sky scrapers here

Like nothing I or you have ever seen

There are no radio signals

For me to tell you

                      How deeply I may

                             Or may not feel

For you

 

And worse still

I do not have anyone's eyelashes

To practice my plucking

Or body to practice my holding

 

I guess I’m just your series of near misses

Author's Note

everything is intentional.

Reviews

[SquinklaPsyOps]

Measured, and extremely well written.