Unrequited.

Torn and crumpled pages, I just can’t seem to throw,

wandering in my soul, some feeling is lost and cold,

the dream never ends, just trickles off a lonely lash,

with nothing to show for itself, surrenders at last.

Your essence still lingers, over every gentle curve,

in hopes and sighs, my being is immersed,

life calls, but the comfort of your warmth beckons,

bit by bit, it all comes off until life is second.

Creeping up and spreading slow, a slight tremor rises,

lips part, eyes close, just breath and its vices,

reality swoons and rationality is swept off its feet,

bitter passion, sweet clarity, the twain shall meet.