poem

 (untitled)

I suppose if true

that I shall never

kiss you head to toe,

it would be pleasant

and enough to know

I’ve done right by you—

just a fellow being attempting

to leave behind

some understanding

where before was none;

to pluck joy, great or small,

from the landscapes and mists

of what might have been,

is to fortify reasons to live.

Though words of my past

may have missed the mark

in calling out through the dark,

I live on the hope

you’ll hear me once more;

source of inspiration, muse.