Tonight, I find no words to comfort me.
I think of ways to take me away
from the weeping, the sobbing, the crying, the howling;
still I find no peace to reach my dying heart,
still I find no calmness to still my wounded soul.
I yearn for you, and the silliness of it makes me smile.
How could one reach for another beyond the dim,
where there is no light, no clarity, not even the gift of a silhouette?
I yearn for you, and the madness of it all drives me completely manic.
How could one miss a touch, a kiss, a shivering caress
that was never once there, even for a single minute?
I write for you in words that would never fly.
You might be one of few, who’d read this briefly, and then pass on by.
You might never know it’s you, for tell the world who you are,
I never will.
Yet, I long for a single moment that a tiny part of your being
would wish to everything that the heavens made holy
you knew me well enough to pretend it really is you.
For in that single moment, in that brief fraction of time un-owned,
you were mine, while I would be forever yours.