Verisimilitude
Strange, after living so long apart
the things that resurrect the memory of your touch;
a vanilla-scented candle, the taste of Turkish coffee;
or the way flower petals graze my skin so softly;
the feel of waves beneath my feet,
the light of a parking garage…
the aching’s almost too much.
Sometimes I think I see you and set my eyes to follow after;
but it’s just ardor’s chimera, just a cruel mirage,
summoned by someone else’s laughter,
sounding from someone else’s street.
When I close my eyes the hundreds
of miles melt in my mind
to a single point in time.
We can’t see the water lap around us
but we hear its suggestions,
and sighing fold in on each other
like a glowing paper crane
nesting in the waters of the sky.
Once again I think I see your face--
the moon wreathed in penumbra--
And numbly grab a pen,
recording your ghost’s fading trace
in journals of sinew and cartilage.
Copyright © Ben Throne | Year Posted 2023
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