Honeyed Lips In Sour Times

I have no right to miss what is not mine,
yet my heart fills with a peculiar longing to breathe your air
in a surreptitious collective of two, undercover
honeyed lips in sour times, casting spells,
caught in the slow tranquility of  transitory thought
my mind muddling through daytime inertia,
walking in loops languidly never reaching higher ground. 

Verse may hold no significance,
broken promises held aloft on honesty,
heart strings dangled above unintentional landscapes -
with lens in hand, comprehending what I have found
pushed to the farthest edges of an ephemeral reality,
in an arc of revelation joined together
in every revolution around - tighter I am wound.

I fear these words as much as you, splitting myself in two,
disregarding webs shot through jet stream waves, drowned
relegating sentiments back to the vaults of sentient souls.
What am I but a fool, who believes life stores more
in our cells, mixed messages, scents leaving a trail
for others who hold the wind closely, breathe deeply
allow the universe to take hold, lose fear, become bound.

T'ween Time Filigree Seams

Breathing deeply, I search
anticipating catching a scent of you remaining,
hoping no one else will,
I bring different pieces of myself past my face
until I discover you upon my palm.
The place where your fingers met mine
fingers entwined in gentle after-glow,
your eyes, sideways across the pillow, smiling.

I find you mixed in the scent of my hair
sweet breath and skin as you pulled me in,
your hand pressed firmly against my crown
I breathed, buried into your chest, knees tucked
I find you on my shoulder
left over from the curve of your arm
enveloping me in embrace
soft-scented trace lingers.

You stay with me until morning,
if only in visions and reveries
honeyed perfume infecting my mind,
sweet dreams of daylight domesticity
situations that can never be,
conversations with no place in the darkness
grasping tween time filigree seams
lost in our blissful in between.