It is only a thought…
but nothing is more powerful.
This sigh rides on notions
yet to be expressed,
ideas which may never
extend beyond my surface.

I wear this face
sometimes with shadows,
but mostly in the light
because I am too old for masks.
None seem to fit very well,
and my currency is too valuable.

There is no sleeve.
I only wear pores,
and they tend to breathe out loud.
If you feel what you do not hear,
you are a great listener.
Greatness often stops there.

While these concepts dance
around my heart,
shaping its comforts and anxieties,
my knowing grays.
I’ve compromised reality with
my internal experience.

For decades, I’ve tried,
and I predict for decades more,
to seize this assumptive power
so impassionedly lit by my
innate prowess in calculation.
With genius, sums emerge without parts.

I am brilliant, I tell you!
A creative mastermind of what-if…
I bet… no doubt… and why ask…
this sage of life’s prescripts
does not require outside input.
Out there is the air where deception breeds.

In here, I am safe.
The drawbridge is aptly manned.
My secrets and yours are hidden,
innocently composed in speculation,
where we both can rest easy…
until thoughts seep beyond my surface.