Together we sit, dance deep on the brink;
Eyes meet; breaths prance in sync;
An intimacy; no need to disrobe;
Thus do we see; behind this teary globe:
Lies a person like me;
Vast and infinite is she;
A dreamer like me
Unknowable, unconquerable, and unquenchable;
Her butterfly mind counterpoint to my stable.
This poem is but a story, nay, a parable;
The cipher not caught; ’tis mere babble.
She turns away; I look even deeper;
Would you run? Would she?
Does thee burn? Is it for me?
She flees my sway; I pull ever closer.
A sharp flame rises; the night darkens;
The moment suffices; the soul harkens.
She is my muse; my rhythm and my blues;
Is she but a ruse? A silently smoldering lit fuse?
’Tis the story of me;
A yearning for the sea;
The quest to be free
Heart of crisis; shifting soul of the Pisces.
Blue dawn rises; mind still surmises;
Breathe, stillness, silence; do you see?
Chaos, perfect balance; as all things must be.
This poem was originally published on Medium on Dec 25, 2019.