if I said that you were silent

If I said that you were silent,
some might think you were reclusive
and this was not the case
because when you were distant,
so was I,
and we were apart together.
I still don’t know if you knew
that I was there
shaping my thoughts after yours
(in a place of little gravity
and no magnetism).
I don’t think I need to know.
I don’t think you need to, either.

In incident’ly glimpsing them –
the colours you have known –
in bookshelves and in vinyl
which at once became my own,
I thought that you had shared with me
the best things one could ever see.

Even so,
my fingers were too small
to sculpt my mind to match your own,
and yours
I think,
too calloused
to know my skin against your fist.

A vagueness, which I once had made
did hide the picket fence charade.
A fog hangs yet, I am engrossed
but I loved you the most.