i'd rather the truths of our inner worlds
(crashed)
than the facades that we give each other
(like so many handshakes, business cards, and
"nice to meet you"s.)
but again vision like clouds
and the inability to grasp the sun
the ethics of ambiguity
the wisdom of insecurity
titles with innards remembered
only in wisps & filaments
i don't know what i'm writing
nor who i'm writing for
but please believe me
i want you closer than is possible
between two beings born
apart
framed memories
picture postcards
i can't help but look
the sad countenance that tells
so much more than what it sees
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