While You Are Here

Am I not exactly what you wanted to believe in. You move through thoughts as smoke through the air invasive and sticky sticking to the conscious a millisecond per nanosecond hovering just there just long enough to register… the register your chemicals pattern know their way and flood and flow just enough to not let you know of what your unscious plans are for you, And many have told you your profile is becoming and now you only speak to people with head turned and your eyes askew, Hardwired into your physiology, your superior rectus and medial rectus on overtime, Should you have the time to shoot the breeze… You left me standing in Mont Martre dealing solo with the street vendors, who wanted the Euro and a peek up my skirt all the while trying to rip me off Their invasive eyes spying at my legs…their psyches at full mast attempting to tempt me to part with currency. I am fluent in foolish. Am I not exactly what you wanted me to believe in? You are lost at sea, damaged and wave-weary desiring so much to reach a shore, To hear a voice, hold a hand, human connection. You intentionally albeit unknowingly keep your self at sea, professing the need for solid earth under your feet while all the while you wile- away your time upon salted, foam-crested waves you keep your mast full -- wind behind you directing you maintain your aqueous journey…It is the longing and pain you keep close to your breast. The longing is what you don’t profess: The longing is what you live for. Are you not exactly what I wanted to believe in?