The Cocoon

Who needs sense. We've inhabited trumpery, meaningless tid bits that espouse a thousand meanings. On countless occasions I've caught myself clinging to the simplest of words, uttered by you. Recollections aren't mere remembrances, not as one would recall such a scene. No. No, you've left an essence, clinging to still frame photographs like the ingression of moisture colliding with summer concrete. Thoughts of you envelope me in a hunger, a hunger known only to those living in the streets. Bottomless pit, a well run dry, pouring the ocean in it's entirety couldn't quench such a thirst. The soil somehow managing to drink it up, every last drop. It only takes one look to obliterate my logic. I like touching you, irresistible. And the hysterics have begun! I insist on the demeanor of a madman. Assisting senseless notions. Everything from absolute ecstasy to overwhelming heartache. You wait patiently to embrace me after i've finished exhausting every possibility. With such tolerance! But i can see you savoring my warmth. Wrapped around your finger, a wildfire now smoldering coals. Clothed by your concern. And it is in this moment, that I have never felt more cherished