Webbed infatuation
Pixelated, dark, and with word I did not know,
I met you with that mask.
And though I’m sure I have memorised it’s crevices,
Your shirt, the glasses.
I feel guilty about it still.
God is something of many that connects us,
Something that loosened our ropes,
And your cross is highlighted in my moonlight,
And yet I’m drawn to you still.
Your wisdom outshines mine,
And you bask in it well,
And your tan fingers ran over my route before me,
I follow along, to my peers’ disdain,
And I look up to you still.
For, my dear, you have been through hell
And with each of my beats the ache grows,
And your scars match my own,
And your lack of an ichor leash let the worst inside,
And we fall today still.
And my protection I do wish you had,
Though our locations do not align,
Shared nations, interests,
And realising you may know me best,
Yet I have not met you still.
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