Terms of Endearment

It is like sublimely stumbling through the woods at night;
The moon beams only shine straight into my irises every now and again.
Sometimes I shudder, I shatter as the cold air seeps through my veins and fills my lungs
Like balloons; it freezes my mind and I fall.
On the forest floor I grasp and pull at the ropes and roots and weeds for a glimpse
Of the water table, only to find myself
Up to an arm in gravel and mud.
But I do climb trees and see silhouettes and my knees do bend,
Sometimes.
Sometimes,
I think you are watching me, weaving through the branches that spark like synapses
Inside this forest of delusional dreams and nonsensical nostalgia; time is nonexistent here so stay.
I can see for miles and miles,
Over the hills and through the leaves,
But I can only sprint so far,
And my footsteps can barely begin to trace paths through the sparkle of spiders’ webs.