I have never touched your face
yet my hand knows the curve of your line,
could find it in a dark room full of words and music,
dope beat dropping the sound of your name. I wonder
about your voice, if it’s deep and smooth
like blue velvet on my skin, knowledge
and easy tone massaging my lobes,
eyes on the outside taking me in.

I wonder what you really think, colorful photo
displayed brightly against a white web wall, silent exchange
revealing pieces of a puzzle it sometimes hurts to recall
yet it all flows smooth like a river over stone,
waters crystal clear, strong, making their way home.

The rhythm that flows in you also flows in me,
volumes of conversation exploding
without the need to speak, articulating
for days, wondering for weeks about you and me
and the miles in between, gaps in an earth
revolving, waiting to reign supreme.

It’s a dream I keep tucked neatly in my mind,
a poem to put in my pocket, carry
and read in the moments when I feel most alive.
I’ve imagined you before, nameless face taunting me,
making me plead for more of that thing
that tells me the search is over,
makes lovers out of leavers,
sinners out of people who swore
they’d never give in, resist temptation
only until the opportunity rolls in.

I want to say I miss you, but how can that be
when I’ve never even touched your face,
seen the birth of a smile, meaning hidden
in every soft, warm place? I trace a line every time
that I imagine you near, draw your hand
on the small of my back, your whisper in my ear
but the paper is beginning to thin and I think
it’s clear that our paths will soon collide,
cause a parallel universe paradox so far and wide
it’ll stump them for years to come, make them forget
what they thought they knew and rediscover it as one.

04/27/2007

Posted on 04/27/2007
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