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