Lightning paparazzi,
a forest full of selfie-sticks
pointed straight into the sky.
It's done;
the second chosen,
moments not offered, but stolen.
What hasn't been cherished
is golden.
A film roll in the sky,
after a long whirlwind,
a blistered smooch goodbye.
I loved you
opportunistically.
I loved you
before you were high profile.
The finale of an afternoon tv lie.
The sky hiccups, but
the mountains are bashful,
and I am stuck
stalking a feeling,
a spark,
some flash of electricity.
I'm waiting in the dark
with an itch for intimacy
watching for a glimpse
of something private,
but it hides.
©2024 | K.F. Hartless





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