I'm almost a sound out of focus,
dragging my feet and the scent of you
into sight
all too happily.
I taste a rhyme
within your vocal chords,
but it's too delicate
to memorize.
Though I've come
close.
There's hardly any air at all,
just ineffectual breezes
I'll never realize soon enough.
We're practically an alphabet,
but sung in reverse.
Never nearly a touch out of reach,
but a tangible liquid feeling.
Every emotion hangs on,
just barely,
and is
(essentially)
present.
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