Anima Magnetic

Lost souls when we touch,
Reaching through the astral mirror,
I gaze back into my reflection
There, where I know your eyes,
Though I’ve never seen them.

Our hearts shiver to feel
The percussion of spectral fingers enfolding,
Your hand clasped in mine.

And I know
Whoever you are,
Somewhere at 9pm in the world,
Where the night is fresh,
And rain reduces reflections of streetlights
To the flowing and watery streams
Of bold vibrant pigment,
Somewhere stands a man
Feeling the same ghostly touch,
Who clasps his fingers tight.

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