Through the Glass

Across the room, a familiar tilt

of your head, a new laugh you've built

for someone else. It's a clean cut,

but the ache still finds its rut.

Their hand, light on your back, a claim

I used to know, used to call my name.

It's a gesture I remember, sharp and clear,

drawn across the distance, ringing in my ear.

Your collarbone, a perfect line,

catches the light, a private sign

of joy I watch, uninvited, from afar.

Just a fixed, burning, distant star.