The Existence of That Which You Cannot Touch

Elements,

they masquerade as matter

And the mind

parades like it knows fact.
 

My heartbeat,

the metronome of disaster

Makes up for

what the flesh tones lack.

 
As touch must

make up for lack of texture.

To taste feels

better when eyes close.

As gold does

somehow lose its luster.

As poets

are forgotten in the prose.

'Cause all fades-

like midday's sun above a cloud.

And concrete

Is a word just like abstract

this love will

be covered with a mourner's shroud.

as words recede

I'm lost in want of tact.