supposedly
things get better
the very moment you give up
the very moment you out loud deny
that there’s even the slightest chance of seeing light
the very moment your heart says “no that’s it…no more.”
supposedly things get better
but until they do
all i can do is stare the hands down
as they tick away the time to supposedly:
that unannounced moment when things will somehow magically become better
and i no longer will have to only suppose.
afloat
if for a minute
a moment
in this lifetime
grateful…no
no not yet
no now just
plainly resentful
that again
i am aground
flung into the glaring spotlight
a
grudging
contestant
stuck losing
badly
in this
waiting
game
the perfect moment
has passed
and whatever remains
is overlayed with yesteryear longing
i greedily consumed it all
the sea, the sky, the soft salty breeze
the sun was soaked in
the dark sand dug in
but all that remains now
is a fuzzy
static snapshot.
There is an art:
which each of us create
anew with each encounter,
whatever day.
…safely exhilarating…
…securely coy…
…furtive, fleeting, taboo…
though willingly innate.
silent observers swear by it:
the glance, the presence, the immense haughtiness.
innocent…yet charged with minute passion.
a glance met…
as a mask slides upon each player’s face:
a mute drama begins.
around each involvee a force field emerges:
actions of the other magnified,
leaving all else oblivious.
engaged in this duel of strangers two,
interest is feigned upon all else but the other,
so daringly they counter each other’s broach of space.
The untouched brush:
so close, so close…
to reach out and trace a finger upon….
yet moment by moment intimacy,
cannot purely connect them.
so there one and one,
stay each unknown:
to continue their glance
to continue their silent dance…
intotheindigo 