closer

relegated to attempts
it seems as though
my prime
will be spent
shopping in circles
furnishing a house
of contradiction

my fingers
too large to caress you
my quick breaths
voyeuristic gales
gestures too grand

everything clumsy
adoring
distant
futile and coarse
without the peace
that comes from scale

I buy a tiny lamp
with hope of
illumination and warmth

sometimes
the world
is the smallest world
in the world

closer

© Tom Watters  7/10/09