Rounded Edges

The rounded edges 

of your hand,

soft and slick

across the palm,

gently press

into flesh.

Oh! To touch the heart

through touch of skin,

a tender lip to cheek, 

and warm arms of embrace.

Your eyes touch the air between us,

piercing through

the cloud of unknowing

to smile

at me,

at last.

The lurch of loneliness

loving you

held me

through the lurch 

of loneliness

—my stomach knew 

before my heart 

that it was already 

mid-fall

and as the rigor-mortis 

muscle of earth

caught me, death 

transmuted my soul.

I am new.

I will not let

affection, again,

awaken too soon.

You are a vision

You are vision
of something good coming my way;
I hear you
it is not you, and
I respect you.

Your journey leads, down
a path winding away
from the place we met

"The soul is seen best in candlelight,"
he said.
And I believe him now.

I saw your soul and mine, haunting
the dance of that night,
glimpsing the soft brush
of untouched skin
singed by shadow.

I meet you there, still
though you have never returned.
Your face is as dark
as my knowing of you

But I still see your form
half-stepping into the light.