i remember,
trying to fall asleep on silk.
floating under the
silhouettes of haunting figures,
beautifully so.
dancing on what seemed
to be like broken words
and dried up black ink
that smelled of blood.
grammatical.

though i have never
seen their eyes, and
i have longed for their touch
several times a day, and for
their voices to tell me that
they'll always be above me,
to look up to,
to stare forever into.
to keep on trying to
reach up high to where their
words have placed them.
yes, i am ambitious.

i have wanted so much
to kiss their fingertips.
to taste the syllables
gushing out of their beings.
if only to let them know
that i am here, below them,
always.

waiting for a single glance,
and for drops of pouring ink
to splash on this obsession
that seldom lets me sleep.
 

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