you're thin as air.

you're so skinny,
you're practically starved for existence.
i thread my fingers through your
invisible hair
and look into your clear eyes;
the same color as my walls.

you're sand. i long to hold you close enough
to feel the
cold
inside of me
fade.

that's what we project across the water
underneath the bridges upon bridges
of problems we've crossed;
all the cities we've built
in order to hide from those
wooden-planked pieces
whispering reality.

the lights flood through the night;
neon and ever-too-bright. i like them.
they warm me in the slightest.
they remind me of you.
and you, of me:
the sound so sharp, the sight so clear
the happiness surrounding it all in a fog.

we cry again.

it's so artificially beautiful.
like everything we've built around us.
should we tear down the skyscrapers?
burn the bridges, for a dip in hell?

maybe a little taste
of foolishness
wouldn't bring
too much
pain.

but you're so close. too close, for risk.
i hear your voice.
i hear it.
for once in so long.

pyramid ages.
greece dances passed
mouselini was king
america founded
little freedoms formed
before i heard your voice.

i cry again.
because everything around me,
is so artificially beautiful.
can't i have you?
can't i?
is it too much
to ask?
or is the truth too much
to bear?

but you're so close
you're thin as air, tasting of memories
but you're hot as a fire
and your gaze is wrapped in winter.

i shiver;
those eyes are inside of me.

they say, in their loving stare:
believe. if only
for this moment.

because only
in this moment
do those cities burn away
those bridges; collapse.
you're hiding in the smoke.
ever fleeting;
but i see you.

you smirk; and i know.
you're barely right;
I'm almost wrong.