My fist is on the verge of casting smooth stones
at a mosaic facade to crack a catalyst
that resides between her stiff lips.
Mesmerized by her hips,
I weave through shadows
down a long corridor of cheap thrills
to kill the translation of a ghost
that dismisses the emphasis
on building bridges over a graveyard
of insecurity.
But I’m the one dead inside.
The coward who shivers in the mirror
examines the best of me.
My heart races through my veins,
shaking me out of the ruminating feedback
for which I didn’t ask.
I’m on the verge of kissing her lips
even if I miss; she can’t say I didn’t try.

Twitter – @AC0040

(© 2023 AC)

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