A memory, its soft edges
the shadow of your touch,
the familiar of your mouth,
whispers of blood rush.
Trapped and hanging I wait;
the path travelled I long to retrace,
the step forward I can't bear to face.
Painted here into this photo I stare,
at once glancing over my shoulder
one foot hesitating in midstep.
How do I make you see me when I refuse to see myself?
I tighten my grasp,
you drift like smoke through my fingers.
