Could I exert my hands past the tempered glass
for just a chance to touch you once more?
Can I prove to myself you are not a ghost,
or is the long-shot ambition too crass,
and the idea only manifested from memories I adore?
Emerging from these words, that to you I implore,
are skylark emotions, ambitions I feel most.
I hope they consume each fiber of your heart,
instill contentment in the beacons lighting your shores,
and corroborate feelings to which you host.
I would search for you along the darkest coasts,
and stop ocean liners before they depart.
I could keep your heart in a perfect glass box,
contain your possessions inside titanium posts,
and only for you, my love, capture the stars.
I could collect my tears for you in a porcelain jar
and enable all of your dreams amassed.
We could tame, and travel upon, overgrown condors,
riding wind currents and the sky’s fluid contrasts,
liberated, easily flying to untouched lands afar.
Darling, what I wouldn’t give to remedy the past,
to feel you sleep in my arms once more,
and push my hands through this mirror’s tempered glass.