These are the great times to come

« See, there are moments for everything, especially to tell you that you still haunt me, like a peculiar muffled melody that strains on tired heartstrings. I try to imagine what your voice sounds like but all I can hear is the piano downstairs and notes running as if on still water; I try to picture your face but all I can see is an imperfect calligraphy, ever a-dissolving into rare and precious colors. Do not ask me if I can sing or dance for you – I have not the makings of a perfect heart (or is an unfinished, a half-heart what you are looking for?) but I could try to wake up butterfly-veins and read your future in my palm. Rain and words are what unite us, for they have no more substance than we do, always slipping out of each other’s grasp, as if this were just a game. But bound I remain, to something I have not claimed my own – shall I soon depart for more stable ground? I do not know, and if I did, I would soon leave anyway. Your lips, as I try to imagine them, have a taste of clouds and summer, something that belongs to Tuscan poppy fields or lone twilight beaches at the end of the world. Perhaps one day will see us breath against breath; but for the moment, to fill up the absences, I will stand under the rainfalls, head raised, asking for sunlight and tangling up breaking clouds in my fingers and hair. »