You are tall, sculpted, quiet, elegant,
personally touched by God;
with crystalline mind, playful spirit
impossible outside a dream, with
black-hole magnetism, yet
distant from orbiting admirers
near but not close,
so I wait, wondering
how it feels to be you, inside your soul,
behind your face, long-buried
lies fractured trust/betrayal/loss;
penetrating trauma healed into
callus of quiet resignation,
so you cry, softly.
Now recovered: wary, heavily armored
once naive, now cynical;
no way back – no way out,
so you write, soaring frail lines of hope and despair.
I watch, want to help, to approach,
to say “I see your pain, know your heart,” but
your fortress is thick and high, impervious.
And, you just don’t need another relationship,
so I read, and imagine being you.