...in my life...if only...

There is comfort: that my hand, a wraith, reaches through the impenetrable void
The smoke walls of thought and focus upon you
Beyond the window as I lay, dotted lights a string of watchful electric eyes
Like ancient Greek owls mythical and never blinking
It's quiet tonight, for once...
Through those mists that I may sense you there, your hair shadow within shadow,
Melting into the pitch as ink upon ink
Thousands of whispers are meant to softly settle in the sanctuary of your heart
"If only" I say...a mantra, "if only" (my heart pains otherwise if I don't)

Wandering the halls of museums alone, as is my wont, a modicum of peace
Intersecting proofs as if love were but theorem and statement
"How shall I then thus prove?  How shall I then, that Fate, shall move?"
I know the stoic stone faces stare in answer: lidless eyes acknowledge not.

Pull together every sigh that elicited rhyme since the very moment that early man saw across
the ancient fires and lay them bare.
I should call you 'Little Bird' and you respond as if it were your name since, like, forever
The warmth of my hand as if to codify that blood runs deep and cannot lie

"List and mark", I cry as the song underlies the aimless drive
If these wings could fly she sings the hot streaks burn
All ahead is blur of red and tungsten and this is self-serving I tell myself to stop.
Curse me that I was born aslant but not apart
Laugh, foul Fiend. at the irony.
"Fool!" he says back and all he needs to say.

Yet I'll say and please believe,
Naught for me, none for I.
Only raw wounds writ: all I can offer
For I add nothing to that which is already perfect, in you (naught for me).
A song for its own sake:
Oh, Little Bird...