From Across the Room

I dream of falling

into obsession,

creating a drug of my own–

the worst concoction.

 

The floor of a stomach,

dropping away,

into the depths

of a stranger’s steady gaze.

 

I ripple with unsuccessful seductions,

sending senses scrambling,

as I determined

you could be right for me.

 

It is gathering interest

in that which is irrational,

when logic seems worthy

to be thrown out.

 

It is when heart beats

grow silent wings

first fluttering, then

flying out of reach.

 

There are no answers

for the questions I ask–

I am irrelevant

when you question me back.

 

The dream I believed in

was simply just that–

a ridiculous notion

that is not sought out.

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This entry was posted in Poetry.

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