Poem 97: Ghost Meetings

how much like love
your screaming
blast of loneliness
forming the shallows
that thicken
the spelling time
between our lives
tightly couching
thinly courting
cleverly counting
(are we not supple)
the many waists
of freedom

and the cities
desolated by talk
the streets
of ghost meetings
the wall to
wall shadows
feeling not
seeing not
hearing not
living not

touch me not
for I am not yet
formed enough
to withstand
the blasting scream
of your love
against my loneliness.