an unrequited tale

These questioning hands
build sentence structures with
the fragmented pieces of my heart
languid in their hopeless journey along
the curve of your shoulder.
Their inflection shows vulnerability,
the "hows" and "whys" and
what does it reduce itself down to?
the smallest numbers
infinite - minute.
the building blocks of time.
the tiniest steps, the stairway leading nowhere,
feet hitting pavement, the crackling of bones
and an eagerness to crumble into myself in your arms.

these wandering fingertips
are writing stories.
telling tales, recording information in the dark.
just useful data
stored in the crevices of my fingerprints,
lined up neatly in the maze of skin cells and follicles.
dying to be built into words and
the countless dimly-lit images.
This laughing and vaporized sighing.

and then the moment's passed,
dissolved into twilight.

solidarity

amazing.
how fast the words will slip away from me, how easily they get lost in the maze of my thoughts and concerns. I find my body next to yours, so close yet never close enough. the relative distance between you and me varies in a million different ways, and so understanding these moments becomes difficult for me. accepting the moment we are in becomes sand in the palm of my hand, slipping through the cracks.

somehow I missed the stop to solidarity. my feet are stumbling, I can't hold this balance for much longer. I need something stable to hold on to, and I really just wish it could be you. I want, more than anything, for it to be you.