You Are Not Him
move me past
these words
stroke my face
as you transport me
on the tip of your
tongue, directed,
everywhere
there is nothing
but the fall
to your arms,
no softer
arc to land,
or port for
this storm
without you
I am mindless,
restless flesh,
twitching
an immitation
at life,
in the longing
of this separation
I have devolved
to a whisper
of darkness,
and as I pick
at the frayed
threads of shadow
I watch the stars,
ever dim
for I know
you, are not him
Copyright © Jayne Eggins | Year Posted 2010
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