always, the waiting.
this time, cemented by knowledge and desire,
stagnated by distance and stress--
for the depth of the need i have for you now,
there are not enough words
there are not enough memories
there is too much changeability, between me and you,
and i cannot be satisfied.
i am not sated by promises, i am not
filled with affection or articulation, i will not be
contented with hope.
i am caprice, winsome and lithe,
curling up between your fingers and
blowing away like smoke in a summer breeze.
i am all need, all desperation,
all loud and vibrant and crying:
the depth of the need i have for you now,
it could eat me alive,
it could swallow me whole.