Stitching

Who are you? 

Tiptoeing across my vision, 

stalking like the kingfisher 

along the shores of my memory, 

reflecting a man I  

used 

to know. 

You imprint yourself in my veins, 

digging beneath my skin, 

a peachy smile passes your lips 

and I forget my words -

the one who speaks so often. 

A silken trail treads behind you, 

swollen invisibility lofty by 

your shoulders. 

And the screens about your eyes 

pass a certain sort of intention, 

something I never noticed 

before. 

A patience sits in your frame, 

outlines your limbs in their lift 

and their fray. 

It will not be today but 

when the skies turn grey 

I will remember -

I will remember how you  

stepped on my heart.