She’s So Close

She’s so close,
you know,
like the promise of snow on Christmas morning.
The kind of hope you hold onto,
your hands tight around it,
aching with the aftershock of past disappointment,
but budding with the fresh flowers of faith.
I see her in my dreams,
taste her when the sun rises, and my eyes are all aflame,
I chant her name in my lost hours,
when I am deep in a stolen sleep,
flying high above the bed sheets,
electricity flying from painted fingertips.

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