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.
Copyright © John Weber | Year Posted 2009
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