i
words afraid
to whisper in a lover’s
ear (for fear
of the fool
lurking deep
within us all)
so by proxy
instead and through
an incandescent screen
you’ll admit to
(a certain) dream.
ii
eyes which lock from across
a crowded room
(or any empty
space) and in an instant
just seems right
in ways beyond words
to fathom
what might pass
and what feels light
even in those moments
of entertaining
a (certain)
thought.
iii
lost and loaded
in this latest digression hung
with the weight
of (a certain) perception
and out in the open
like a whisper.
iv
pools which reflect
a face (just the latest one
in a running sequence
of stories woven
this into next
which complement
a certain time
and place)
and those mirrors
you’re afraid to face
whose polished surfaces
whisper and reveal
lines which cut deep
and unerringly
true.
