Almost hums like a promise.
It breathes like a prayer.
And whispers like the sunset.
Almost tastes like the dust before the rain,
A parched tongue waiting for the sky to break.
It bubbles like a joyful readiness,
A membrane, thin and electric,
Stretched between the dreamer and the gold.
It is not a wall to hold me back,
But a surface waiting for my fuse-
A sacred space where the “not yet”
Becomes the “I am.”