young

some times

they would sit and think of each other,
float,
hang,
from needles of twin pines,
so far apart on the ground, but almost kissing in the sky,

almost kissing,

they would think,
heads buoyant feet falling spines stretching fingers
entangled
as a spiderweb,
almost
kissing
the bathroom mirror,
(so blessedly obscured by steam)
to feel a feeling,
(so gossamery)
along the bevels,
and around lip fog,
of connection,
reciprocation,
(daydream
(movie
(floating
(achey,))))
like
a million tiled reflections,
across oceans,
over synapses,

perhaps between two old pines,
so far apart on the ground,
but up with city lights and shooting stars,
there are sparks,
pairs of eyes,

almost

kissing

 

– Nick Moncrieff