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.