What is this
Between elongated limbs?
What is this short figure, that does no longer kiss?
It merely stares.
I carved a portrait, from dust,
And made a heart flutter, with rust,
And, with a face I’ve come to love,
Here it is, never knowing what’s above.
It peers at me
In arms as cold as its gaze.
It does not move,
But, weeps a solitary tear to its cheek.
One little detail, as that tear
Comes off as a dewdrop upon the grass blade,
Rolling away to soak away,
As I aim to chase it.
Has no soil to sprout life.
Because, your heart is like your own shoulder
That no one anymore will touch.
For like a feather,
I pass through.