pen to paper

Can't shake this heavy head

This peeling away of my skin

This insinuation into the nerve

embedded in my spine

This splicing of synapse with

synapse

This attempt at writing a line

little death

An irresistible urge to steal fishing lures

Gold dagger lost in the city streets

Signs pointing every which way

My cold hands warm to the touch of

running feet

Ensnared by loss I skip across the

surface of a frozen lake

The mind’s thin ice a petrified sheet

Unsure whether to dip into the sky

or leap into its icy depths

This eternal procrastination

Waiting for you to call and touch

your gentle lips upon my cheek