"Poetry and hums aren't things which you get, they're things which get you. All you can do is go where they can find you" – A.A. Milne, Winnie-the-Pooh
The shadows that walk beside you
close as an inuit kiss,
or that trail behind like a train of silk
are my constant nemesis.
you fall through my fingers like fabric,
incensed by your scent that tarred my weakening lungs.
This sticky mess of warmth that clings to alveoli
as I breathe in you.
and yet, my dear, you are not mine –
for now I wait. A sentinel that guards the guards upon your heart
and sit in a carriage of dreams. My secret path of secret love.