paper cranesone-thousand, one.
the folds and creases,
tracing every deft movement
of my hand, disassociating myself
from the action of -
folding, bending, tucking, smoothing -
creating paper cranes,
plus one thousand,
it's believed the maker's
wishes shall come true.
one-thousand, seventy-six.
you still stay far away on
little island off the coast of
this seafaring town.
town visit have been kept to
a minimum
since my altercation -
no -
since my confession of
undying love, devotion,
admiration from afar. stars
and planetary bodies seem
closer, within reach as my
hand reaches out into the
expansive sky while outlines
of your form can barely make-out
through binocular, ocular
strains.
i'm not stalking.
i just can't bear this staving of
sight, parting of bodies by physical bodies
that shouldn't be -
my dear, a chance
relearning i. stardust scatters with the:thumb332600088: :thumb338185717: :thumb305097115:
direction of my pupils –
maybe secretly i am an
astrology teacher, waiting
for a sign to wink
happily at me.
ii. excuse the rambling
nature of forgotten question
marks, but tell me:
would you like to be the
object of handwritten clichés
would you like to whisper
secrets in my palm
and would you
like to be the possibility
iii. air brushes against my
skin like the torn petals
of a flower still standing.
[ hold your head up high, honey,
and tell tomorrow to wait just
a while,
iv. so you can figure out
the difference between
patience and having all the
time in the world. ]
v. stardust glitters from the
creases of my hands.
perhaps i am not the teacher
but the pupil,
relearning how brilliant
stars can shine.