Ignoring Bliss

I rested the tips of my fingers on joy and felt a sensation similar to betrayal.
And on pressing my palm through it I did not feel like falling, I felt thirsty.

My hand did not disappear in the microwave of happiness; it stayed elevated
Before my face, untouched and still, lingering like anything would after finding
Something like this.

So when I pulled my hand away, slowly, to the ends of each nail, my hand stung;
Pins and needles from the separation's anxiety. But what my mind suffered
Was far more indefinable.

I rested the lids of my eyes on the tops of my cheeks and felt something
Close to fatigue, but like a flight as well, of feathered wings that did not
Belong to me.

Without touching joy again, I left it in the air, like my plans to go to Paris.
I left the room I found it in and forgot instantly what pain there was in happiness.

Would something so soft follow me, carried in my wind and will?
Or will joy be kept at bay, with my betrayal and the fossil of my hand
Stuck in its caves.