.

One longing

.

.

Thriving in darkness,

one longing, reduced in the sun,

devoid of a plush pulse, dried up,

surrounded by feasting ants.

One longing, entombed.

One longing, dormant, awakened

divulged then defused. One longing

I should be happy to get rid of, but

I am not because it was a lifecord

bonding me to you, to your valiant warmth

and the promise of what I have never known.

I never received a soft forehead kiss from your solid

lips or your two hands kneading my

aching shoulders. I have let go of wanting it,

and am left hollow, still, without

wind over my waters.

I sometimes think of your love,

how it would have been to receive

a memento of reciprocated devotion.

How free I could have been

in your desirous presence.

Instead on this couch, in this same spot,

arms folded, feet cramping

from underuse. I walk, but

take the route of a circle. I’ve

lost the seventh sense which was

mine alone.

With no hope of you,

I am not whole, with the hope,

I am doomed. So I kill the hope,

leave it mid-road, so tiny

cars cannot see it to avoid, so deformed 

children cannot feel for it

to save it from destruction.