The fog has permenantly frosted the window pane-
my fingers tracing, communicating nothing,
I leave perpetual markings--eternal
my love for you dearest one,
troubled, forbidden, bedeviling--you.
precious hieroglyphics for future generations
to ponder--were we a society obsessed with
nothing but each other, with love,
with ourselves?
We are only star-gazers
We only reach for the stars
too
far
away.
My fist breaks through the glass--
shattering the barricade between
me, and sweet, dark air.
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Reach for the clouds. . .
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