perhaps you came like the mist
to write my name on the drops,
clouding the poorly lit street
less thickly than fog does

it raised a wisp of unspoken air,
swirling with tender avalanche,
rocking my hidden slight delight,
freezing the window just outside

i obligingly massage in circles
to watch from the window again:
blurry formation of a man in blur,
landing itself on a soft storm

a sort of manic existentialist
i am when it comes to falling in,
so i barefooted the young green
and held a scarred palm towards

then it turned into an empty fist,
filled with chill from inside me.
i knew all along you exist not
but i still wander about endlessly

it is hard to say about the timing
of sweet utterances that is not routine.
you cannot be recreated from old records,
not side by side with my nightmares

maybe one day during a hard downpour
we will truly meet at the gravity,
feeling acid peel my ancient skin away,
joining my warmth with your sticky cold

why this thing is a mystery? this meet.
sweet asunder of a blown artificial hegemony,
a joke thrown by a special god to be overthrown.
still, awaiting a faceless man shrouded in smoke.

© estherg