in the center of your pulse i feel your fear,
there is a draft in this place too swift to ignore.
I refused to kiss you, lay back
in my seat, air drumming;
the moon erased the anonymity
of night, I saw things plainly.
Do you think I am any more magic
than you? I don't- the sea
marks the edges of my existence.
in- into a dream, into a story:
a ghost hiding in the corners
of your smile, a whisper
of a moment.
I didn't mean to suggest there exists such a thing as missing pieces.
(oh, to hide in between sounds)
© 2005 : Jenny Ryan