Looking Through the Snailhole

When I consider how lost I’d be without you my head swirls, aching from the mere notion, despite our distance and melancholy sorrow, my nose presses streaks across the glass. Outside your sanctum through circumstance, we’re forced to gaze misty into our potential coyly out of reach, our morsel to be savored above all meager delusions of adoration. These existences spark with close proximity, shedding energy, giggling once exposed raw by the stars resplendent dancing your name, the black ripples in the back of my eye. Such pernicious force of longing can’t help but expel cries of zealous joy echoing with resonance as those shortened breaths cinch with bleak jabs, the core of mad desire. The horn sounds blaring reminders into me even while I turn to stroke you with my soul, the sands flow to the center pulled by vigor to become the greatest segment of me.