pining
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Dear Darling,
You know how I feel.
When will you feel it too?
Will you ever?
Dear Darling,
I'm starting to dream of us.
How one day we could rule the world.
You are my prince;
I look at you
and I cannot believe
that you don't know
can't feel
my depth of love,
cannot reach your
hand inside my heart
and pull yourself out.
I wonder feverishly
Weave flowers through your hair
while we sit in the garden.
To be alone with you,
not touching, never touching,
is a sublime torture,
an exercise in self-denial and gratification,
I wish you talked about me
the way you talk about him.
You float through thoughts of him
while I drown in thoughts of you.
Your aching lungs are full again
and you swear you found your breath
No one told me
that I would suffer
for the muse.
I wake up;
I think of her.
I write;
I think of her.
I eat, drink, sleep;
I think of her.
She never thinks of me.
You were never mine
but I wanted you.
I wanted with
every bruised limb of my body
every crack in my faulty brain
every beat of my cold heart.
I have never wanted anything more than you.
I cannot write if it's not about you.
I cannot think of anything but you.
I cannot sleep without dreaming of you.
I miss you.
The black void
yawns before me.
I go to it, arms open
I would carry the weight of the world
for you
if I could
like Atlas.
My spine is weak
and slumped under my own weight
but I promise
I won't let you down.
Muses are supposed to be:
soft, loving;
passionate, burning;
But you are:
lost, looking.
Your eyes are wide open,
always searching;
you see everything,
but find nothing.
The only dreams I remember
are the ones where we're together.
laughter
soft smiles
skin on skin
loose lips
clashing teeth
twisting tongues
hand in hand
You are a nuclear weapon
with the power to
decimate,
end the world,
end my world.
I would let you,
but I hope
we can make peace;
sign a treaty
to protect our hearts,
In these bootless days of pondering this
My heart lays dormant and still in my chest
Like the hand on a clock, not at it’s best
Waiting for my prince enveloped in bliss
wish i were a florist of oldto drape you in leaves of laurel goldazaleas for your striking charmwishes for peace and embraces warm
I am here where you are not.
I am trapped in a singular frame of mind
With pressing thoughts of lonliness and yearing
That never seem to dissapate.
The more that I revert to leaving you behind,
I found lovein all sorts of places.I could coax it into appearingeven when a heart was withanother,though those weightswill never drop.I found it in the dog-eared pages
