Tendrils, your arms shot outward like mighty missiles headed home
as four fingers forward, mine, waved through the mist left behind
wishing i had never known
such despair.
two beacons, your eyes were beaming giants of the purest black light
searching me as you spoke to me, carefully following the vapor trail of
my longing
for touch.
a fog, a haze, a somehow better, more attractive state - my departure
i am the multitude of opportunities passed over, caught in the draft of your pulling away
and indifference
to love.
