Touch
Counting tendrils
on the popcorn ceiling,
I raise my hand in
an orchestral fashion
and the ground
pulls me
to the sky.
Phasing through
like a spectre,
I watch over you.
Your birdnested bangs.
Your eyeshadow
frosted,
glued to the lids.
Your body like rippled
velvet; I will drag these
ghastly hands across your
pale skin and
learn to push down
this wanting for more.