Faerie Gold

Wonder sour
Like amaretto without the kick
Just the metallic tang
Of fermented thoughts
Thick on tastebuds.

Feel you, I think,
With the visceral meld
Of red scales and snowflake feathers

But I don't know, per se.

The tools of intellect
Clang unused
for this.

Would know if you needed me,
I think.

But damnable distance
And circumstances
And all the rest.
You'd touch me if you could.

Do you feel me?

That I don't know, either.

All a knotted cord
of viperous speculation
where uncertainty rides
in golden flickers
that turn to autumn leaves
when you look too close.

Call out to me and I will hear you.
Or so I believe.

But a short time without your contact
And already cancerous doubt creeps in.
-not of you, but of the world.
(You and your phantasm breath
Have already lodged in my gray cells.)

I know
you would
never desert me.

It's just a stoic term of lateness and delay
in the face of tightrope reality.

I just hope you haven't fallen off.




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