My lonely body chills with longing's ache;
Like desperate fingers grasping ‘round my spine,
Wishing your touch would distant journey make
And stay forever here, forever mine.
The absent friction burns like ice on skin –
Too raw to serve the function of its pain,
As love for lust and lust for love within
Our hearts pump on in circles, veined in vain.
But yet I write, so seemingly I bear
The curse of loving when love’s traveling’s peak,
Though, as these lines show not an artist’s care,
You’ll hear my heart’s too loud and mind’s voice weak.
Your touch, then, may bring balance to my heart;
Too long held from your heart too far apart.