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What does she think?
I wonder
as my mind whirls about her
abrupt impression.
This person who is after all only a fleeting collection of images and scents,
assumptions and interpolations,
small facts and grand fancies....
She tasks me so wonderfully
as I struggle to peer beyond the mists unfamiliarity
and separation hang between us.
Her voice lingers,
a beckoning signpost.
Her image,
cast deep into the heart
of me
forces an abandonment on me,
and the yet unrealized memory
of touch,
caress,
embrace,
creates
a flame
burning aside the mist,
making my very soul
like unto a moth.
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