Fingertips On The Windowpane Poem by Beverley Katherine

I don't even remember what happened before this.
How I got here.
it was just a moment after a moment
after a moment
and somehow, those moments are how I feel about you.

Right now,
There are snow stars
floating gently outside the glass.
How can something so beautiful
be so cold
so transparent and
barely even there?

If I touched you,
you would melt inside my clenched fist,
full of fingertips (wet and stained pink)
dreams and
fairy dust.

I'm inside the glass, without you now. My
fingertips lie like the leaves in November -
barely resting upon the dewy grass.