Immaterial

 
Do you ever feel
You haven’t looked
At the sky
Enough?
Not taken in
The stars?
Or the mountain?
Or her face
Even though your eyes
Find themselves
Absorbed constantly
Almost like
Osmosis
Sight loses to feel
Like memory
Impressionist
Brush strokes
Coax and tickle
Senses
With smatterings
Of taste
And tendrils
Mental shards
Scatter
A reflection of
Moments
To chew
And glue with
Saliva
And blood
A collage of
Sand
In the shape
Of a mountain,
A painted sky,
Her face
Full of our life.