Close Enough

the intensity of thoughts
diluted by the sensation of frozen fingers dancing on the keyboard,
thoughts disappearing over the miles to where you are,
briefly pausing,
smiling at the image of you in my mind,
reflective…always… of being close enough to touch you.

Unworthy Trade

The poetry has faded like a drab painting hanging on the walls of time,
ticking forebodingly,
echoing the ill-gotten moments that pass off as a cure to feed off inspiration.
Dead words lying in a pool of thoughts,
clouded by veiled faces, hardly recognizable.
Even spectacles can’t focus coherency on their expression,
the murmurs,
half understood garble that re-emphasis the lack of bliss,
lack of concept,
lack of time within the vacuum,
borrowed time until the soul was sold for an unworthy price.