poetinside

We are toes buried beneath ground glass and
Seaweed on ocean banks, poised to dive,
Ready. 
We are the dot that appears
Behind closed eyelids;
I chase it around the red of my inner eye but
It escapes me, always on the periphery.
We cannot look directly at ourselves
You see.
We are dust rising from ivory keys, the
Deep breath and thunderous silence of
Notes unplayed.
I can already hear the music.
We are the toe-curling, mouth agape
Ecstasy of expectation.
Skin so ready to be touched it
Tingles in anticipation.
I can already feel you. 
We are a longing that throbs, that
Lives beneath the beds of my nails
And claws its way through sweaty dreams.
We are the prescience I breathe.
We are the future I miss.