Wordle #168

Word Art (3)

All I have are impressions,
sentiments pressed into paper,
floundering hailstones
in a crucible of grisly white.
Your facsimile drips from my fingers
unbridled and contagious.
Everything I write, do, breathe
has been infiltrated
with your electric blue aura.

Do you ever feel claustrophobic
knowing that you are inside of me?

All day I sit hammering the keys
and gnashing my teeth
in search of fire, in search of peace.
All night I lie peeling back the moon
so that I can count the stars behind it.

Do you ever wonder how my haggard heart
goes on beating despite a skein of impenetrable scars?

The better part of me
still seeks the extraordinary
in what others call mundane.
I have not forgotten the magic
of two people meeting
for the first time
only to find that they have met
hundreds of times before
in ways that they cannot
possibly explain.