I draw you close to me, leaving inklings and dense fingerprints. Just some smudges on the touch screen. Just another fold in the photograph. Whatever light there is, it lingers in this relief. Whatever shine you have, it smolders inside. There you are, another angel, another stranger. Some testament to a worn down and beautiful truth. Some image burned into certainty, that riddle of bones and certain angles. The thrill eminent in every glimpse and entanglement, the eager plunge into enchantment I take as revelation. I draw you near, making up strained mechanisms to fill in all the blanks.
Again I am roused and I am rattled, the day always straying so far from the dream. The dream some depth of ache and confusion too true to believe. Never mind the proof and the confessions, swaddle me in another fitful dose of sweet deception. Fortify me with myth and sentiment. Let me long for sweet hints and pretty slips, the troubling, toothsome smile of the highly improbable. Otherwise, where's the fire? Otherwise, why bother with all this bother?
Another day of pitiful obligations and poor tidings. Another day of too little contentment and too much sun. It won't do to break your back with all this back breaking. It won't do to glad hand all this happy horseshit. Just pause for the moment, catch a breath. Take a breather and keep your eye on the road. Not now, maybe later all the optimism I can handle. Not now, maybe later the only promise one stranger can offer, eyes wide open, knowing what the world might ask.