reaching out of my depth
for an idea
intangibility straying through wisps of my hair
and past my eyelashes
into the unknown shape of someone
i think i know.
plagued by indecision and
called a woman
when i simply long for that depth only a man
could reach.
but really
i’m lost in the translation of you
before i learnt the language
and tangled in a conversation
of eyes that know no more
than its mother;
fresh
incoherent
needing.
aching for a silhouette.