Graze Your Surface
I do not pine
till I glance upon thee in mind
...for thou art an actuality
breathing in and out
flesh
and I am set upon ...by ferociousness and rancor
ardent ...greedy un-feedable need
hysterical desperation
then...harmonic and fluid
liquid gold pours from my soul...cascades off the tips of my fingers
(as I graze your surface)
how can I not go see you?...but I CAN see you
so I do not go there.
I do not use your memory
... for the resistance to whimsy is a concrete wall
of divisive ice and deep grey stone
Copyright © Ingrid Showalter Swift | Year Posted 2017
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