15.11.013 "Ode to Ghosting"

Your secrets
are my treasures, my trinkets,
but I fear they may be my playthings:

toys to a toddler, who wants
what he wants simply
because it belongs to the Other Tot;

I fear I am the Only One--
and
I fear you are a figment.

I fear you are all I cannot have,
I fear
you are me, and

I fear I am the Only One.

All I seek is connection,
meaningful commiseration
and mutual elation,

and laughter unto the wee hours of the night.
All I want is your hand:
lined with years gone by;

skin like parchment,
fingers muscled finely, and
lover-ly words spoken

with a soft-and-reverent portent.
All I want is for you to be real
(I think I made you up),

and for you to flip a switch
(inside my head):
electric currents flowing philandrically,

tendril-ectric filaments unfurling--
making short (and non-existent)
the chilly distance between two holographic

human

(heavenly)

bodies.

All I want:
please, be my companion.
Walk with me through the Fire,

keep me tethered to the present;
let me be no God-ball, no
lens of mercies;

be no vase of acid,
but please:
remain thyself

forever-full of love--
and I promise your gestures will never flake off.
(I imagine you are so warm and human--

please, let it be so.)