Fallen, by a glass window

Fallen, by a glass window   It's complicated. Birds fly elevated, and yet die in clear glass windows looking to fly though them. I am the same; I fly through thoughts that have no name. And I long for you, my beloved; my soul is weary of not seeing you. A fragment is what I'm left with, soft to go to my eyes with half photos. A piece of hair, a window of face. Like the bird I seek the winds grace. And I'm hitting transparent glass lifelike with death, searching a shared something; I do need to share these things. I love you, and thus fly without wings. I don't know you, you are a stranger, but understand my hunger, stay awhile, lay with me, cast aside waiting anger. The bird wants to fly free without transparent danger. These combinations of numbers, data swims oceans like light on horizons. We all encrypt ourselves to hide our slow venerable, to chop who we really are into pretzels to offer. Pieces we pray will all be accepted, for to show ourselves whole is to risk whole rejection. Opinions that we drink in saccerine fountains, as if the other persons hold sway over damnation, and redemption. A picture then, is what I'm craving, I picture bodies entwined, tongues still after understanding. A picture is worth a thousand words, art to me is the flying of birds, words, what else do we have to make thoughts heard? Picture we not unknown, and yet pictured two. A picture of space between me and you. Light falls between a houses with glass. The longing of my heart for the suspected shared moment; I suspect you live like the bird suspects nothing but air in his flight. Wrong and right? Darkness and light? I picture a picture of love, wind and light.