erosion

you glance across the room and yet

does your gaze linger?

or is my blind spot failing me

ever hopeful and never fufilled



you may look past me now

a locked notebook

Schrodinger's story

to be told or left behind

but you'll never really know.



I look just like my mother, as I am always told

hard, harsh pencil lines

you can erase, but they'll never really leave



skin like fractured glass

can you see into me?

or just straight through

our eyes align and it is like I am not really there at all



fresh caramel drifting in the salty air

we meet only briefly

can we stay in this moment where

we are both known and unknown

an urban legend

a thought on the tip of my tounge

lost in the waves of time