I could write and begin to deluge you with my desires. Involving comfort and relaxation, how I wish too much, how my wishing is an avoidance of pain. Though I am still given to dream and see starlight moving across your face that I have the sensitivity to touch with grace. I hate the feeling of not touching, of falling short. I hate the feeling of you not being near. I dislike that you do not know who I am, or not yet and that it might be a grave disappointment that you should. I feel and know you inwardly but such a crashing grace could cause you to run and leave me alone again. I cannot stand to be alone. Or can I? I can stand. I am alone and the particles moving between us are testament that Will has something other than what I expect in store. If only I would stop clinging. If only clinging were a release and you were given into my arms. I am perhaps better away from you then, to know the comfort of solitude. I have never relaxed fully into that. Always slightly restless, avoiding a pit my psyche equates with death. It can never fully rest. Or not yet. I have been walking the same patterns and lines and my last desire crowds in on me. Stubbornly it refuses to go and so you haunt my thoughts and melancholy. You are a boon for me, a gift. A love. I love you in my heart and yet this is unspoken. Sincerely, I love you. You are a part of me and my life is moulding so I can be within you. Naturalness now, expresses itself, the desire has grown faint and I can express clearly that which I want. You, whole and total. You, extinguisher of desire. You, plum-shaped reservoir of my thought. Angel in a thin silk dress. A nymph balanced in sprinkling rain. Kind of heart and broad wings encircle to devour me. I die in you who does not know me but gradually breaks open the cavern of my heart.
BewilderIn Uncategorized on 30 December, 2012 at 15:38