People come and people go
for many different reasons why
usually with most, one can reach out
and touch the heart as they pass by.
But you-like a fine tuned melody
flitter like the stars in the midnight sky
flutter like the snow in a glass water ball
and me-I reach to touch you as you pass by.
But it is only as touching the eagle in flight
as connecting the realism to abstract art
as blind fingers on a page of written word
uncomprehendable, untouchable...your heart.
A twentieth-century work of Monet, a mirage
of emotion and flesh in watercolour pastel
a distant, mystifying, inconclusive sunset
and reaching out...I lost my balance and fell.
And what remains are memories and sparse chances
to sit back and gaze in amazement and such-
to hold myself steady against my desire
and realize you're just too beautiful to touch.