Your lips need never move, still
I can hear their soft refrain.
A tender mist is falling down
and whispering my name.
Across the crowns of mountains
and surrendered shields of grain,

ventriloquist, I feel your kiss
in vintage drops of rain.

​

Your eyes need never look at me
but I can feel their stare.
They follow me, like moonlight
and the afterglow of prayer.
I turn toward some lustrous thing
and yearn to find you there.

My alchemist, you manage this
conspiracy of air.

​

Your arms may never hold me
and yet I know the rush.
Warm wind lights up this skin
your distant fingers cannot brush.
I feel your hands caress me
when the night is close and hushed.

My hypnotist, I can’t resist
illusions of your touch.