The Finding

Waxing poetic with dangerous sentences

The swell of sensation just by reading it,

Two parts, fragmented and far apart,

But finding time to send sentiments and

Make moments in brief, undulating statements.

There is a time and a place for everything,

Perhaps only over kinetic waves,

Humming and buzzing so loud that my brain strains to hold it,

Tingling when the words meet my lips,

Burning when the pictures find my eyes,

Touching the tender spots.

It is a foolish thing to want it,

A childish thing to wait,

A puerile attempt at attention and

Not without effort, still

A constant trying is the way of things here.

People need to be pursued,

And the words make it possible to imagine

The river of things torrential around me,

Vivid and soaking,

If only for a flickering second.

I’ll take the seconds and make them mine,

I’ll feel your words like a haunting,

They surround me when I am not looking,

A kind of welcomed torture, if only to feel you,

And then the day goes on.