-flirting with madness-

i dreamt of your
footsteps
whilst asleep in the bogs
and Scottish mist.
my fingers traced the outer
lines of your feet
bending
the dewy blades
of mountain grass,
following the currents
of your toes
to an arch
of silk curves
devoid of interruptions.
settling at your heal
i swallowed the fragrance
of long-ago smiles.

but, as i looked up for you,
i found
no skin, nor voice,
no legs wrapped in Celtic lace;
no hips, nor stomach,
no breasts to fill
my naked hands;
no shoulders, nor back,
no arms to drape me warm;
no hands, nor neck,
no lips of midnight whispers;
no cheeks, nor nose,
no eyes to calm my screams.

my fingers traced the outer
lines of your feet
from footprint to footprint
frantic
to see you
in a wave of insanity;
trembling with
emptiness and bloody knees.
my fingers traced
over and over
until the dewy blades
of mountain grass
tapered into a grave
of darkness
and i can't see
where
you
stopped
walking.