Out Of Focus: Poem Notes

These are just some notes I have for a poem concept that I’ve been simmering on for a several weeks.

The sound of the wheel is the only thing that breaks the silence, coasting down the slight hill on my way home. The bike tires graze over cracks and uneven patches that I fail to avoid. I can’t seem to get my mind to come back to me. It’s still sitting at the small cocktail table watching you glide from conversation to conversation, soaked in consumption in order to send a numbing sensation to somewhere other than in my chest.

Even though I keep moving further away I can’t seem to tear out the image of you from my brain. You see, there was this one time that you looked at me over the rim of your glasses. Ever since, it’s knocked me out of focus and now I don’t know if my heart can see clearly.

Now every time I hear you tell a story, or lie, or sing, as your voice bounces off the surfaces that surround us those words carve themselves into the tunnels of my veins. The blood that rushes along sends those words resonating, pumping miles of life cycling through my system. And I wonder what graffiti lines the rivers that flow beneath your olive skin. What truths flow in the blue tunnels that lie so shallow in your arms, carving their way to the fingers that are inspired by a machine that rests behind darkened windows.

Even in this near-silence your voice still hurts. Even though you’re not in the wind I still feel the pain in your stare. And though I long to feel the heat lifting from your skin again, I’m afraid to get burned. I’m afraid that a simple glance will cause me to shiver and shake so hard I’ll tremble into earthquakes that would collapse my chest and engulf my thoughts in flames. I’m afraid that with just one more touch I may forget how to turn back.

About Ry

It's so magical, it's gay.
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