In the wash of artificial light
we cast gray, pixelated shadows and
desperate, we yearn for the true darkness
that lies just barely beyond our reach.
What theory must I uncover
to explain the mystery of
the depths of your eyes? Two
silent orbs aimed mercilessly for my soul.
I feel like you already know,
everything there is to know.
The weight of paper can never hold
the dimensions of man though he tries
to divulge all his secrets on a solitary sheet but
the ink runs dry and so many blue lines
begin to blur and I don’t even know
when the speech became so slurred.
Numbers and figures and integers and freeways;
the dogs are growling in someone’s yard.
I can hear them beginning their arguments and
closing statements. They follow the sound of sirens
much like thrill seeking lawyers do and
both keep me awake at night, wishing on
the light bulb moon. She shuts herself off
from me like never before. I wish
I could reach her, but gravity
has me nailed to the floor.
Scarlet Pantomime is the pseudonym of a poet living and working in the Bay Area.
love this sweet pining.