Shoes

My toes touch the wind
as I stand on the edge.
I look all the way down,
and nothing looked in.
The void does have eyes,
yet it refused to use them,
as if looking at me
were its original sin.

Why is that?
Why have I lost your trance?
Forever longing for your attention
begging for one more prismatic chance

In your absence, I breathe
And that very act
                        hurts me
I ignored the tension,
begged for your glance,
but your milky beads
only stared away
                         from me.

What did you pledge
when you carefully built
your ivory hedge?
Its fronds were familiar,
so I stapled my lips
to all its patched leaves—
yet still, I couldn’t scream.
My words only dripped,
then bubbled to steam.

And if they stayed solid,
I’d still have no words to choose.
Because if I did,
I would’ve worn
                        shoes.