Arcing

I was possessed
by possessions'
black ice
fingers,
that day you forced
me to unlock
promises
made only to myself.

Where you are now,
piloting
an open sea of dreams
fearful of blockades
and mutinies,
I have been,
circumnavigating
old wounds,
half remembered
love affairs.

What is between us is limbic,
otherwise irrational.

The answer is always
transparent.

Nearly poisonous.

Libidinous ghosts resume
their unforgotten forms,
eager to continue,
forgiving and friendless.

That hunger,
(like a snow covered walkway)
which drew me to you,
that I recognized, first;
then mysteriously ignored,
disappeared.