Floating softly, sitting upon a sigh,
Feeling the air with soft fingertips.
Possessed by a dynamic inertia,
You tease and tickle me.
Your edges are blurred,
I see only fragments of you.
I merely have to part the veil
To seize the whole.
But you cover your tracks,
Leave no breadcrumb trail.
I’m clutching at a trail of white smoke,
The connection’s slowly fading.
My fingers twitch to clasp your form,
I crave your precision and accuracy.
The intense need constricts my voice,
Let me define my thought through you.
Your fricatives and sibilance guide my tongue
And exacerbate my anguish.
You’re slipping away from me,
Smiling as you leave my memories.
You’re on the tip of my tongue,
Just the thing I need.
All that’s left is the sillage of your meaning,
My words are gone, and I am quietened.
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