Just stupid hints at ineffable words and
crossed out lines.
I keep missing you in and out of time.
The waver of your favours is both bravado and tremolo,
like a strange moon pulling unpredictable tides.
Outside, my flowers play peekaboo;
first time the terrarium ever bloomed.
Opening for the sun, taking sweet, painstaking, time.
The posture of a finger poised to press
the crisp wrinkles of scorched, thin leather.
I now call you Bewilder.