Fingers tapping speak of thoughts;
index pauses in daze of memory
sitting on the looking glass table,
standing slanted and motionless.
One hair strand caught by the weak wind
free falls back with the many, ever so sad;
individualism touched but thrown when grabbed.
Gaze tilted, strained by colors of light;
stay open, they dance in brilliance made puzzles,
but once solved the whole is dull...
Bottled sometimes I feel is the senses
Unopened, seeping out in moments not needed
Trashing those so called intimacies
It could be just a laden thought
Minor spasm of unruly behavior kept locked
Even with that kiss hello, for with goodbye you'll never know
Even with a short embrace, for if you leave you might be chased
Never sure is the is the one
Owning nothing is the sum
Wondering is the door that stays framed...