i do not like the corners of this place,
all pockmarked from eager fingertips,
hungrily stabbing through the dim,
searching for some semblance of grace.
water-stained gaze of mercy,
are yours the eyes with that agonizing stare?
needle-point pattern aching in my fingertips,
searching on for a piece of the otherworldly.
are yours the eyes for which i seek,
undulating cobalt in forbearing frame,
the light beyond the soot and the dim,
the kiss i long to linger on my cheek?
the low crackling of a fire,
your warmth, my one identifier