The lining of a kiss

I know not how many
moments, lives or self-imposed ​

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admonitions hold steadfast
in the delicate lining of a kiss ungiven,
left to wander the streets, uncertain
and forever weak at the knees.

I am, but a word ​

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buried in the travesty
of illogic, a phrase that grows free
only from truth so blindingly sweet​

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it can only fall from your lips. ​

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One that wants ​

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and breaks at the top of the lungs
when yearn uncontained ​

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folds me in your touch.

In this vision that attempts
not to know much, I lose track of
the seconds where black
is dark in a step
and thoughts of you ​

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speak in silent grays.

Drawing space in between
the spilled dreams,
wilted in the tired hour of strength
for a moment, a brief moment ​

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I stray in the scent ​

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of your skin.

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