Mercilessly impatient
are these silent grains
of Hope-
Grating away
on my sanity,
longing
that someday
you will happen to me.
Again.
Like dark poetry.

You are reason and passion’s love child.

You are everything that is right about-

Everything that is wrong about me.

You are death’s soft kiss on my clavicle,

You are life’s reply to my inner tempest.

Your marrow warms my lonely bones,

Your blood cools my uncontrollable fear.

I fear the madness you invoke in me-

The bloody desire your hands provoke.

I should retreat into my own silences,
But like the irresistible sinful rustle of silk-
Your silences beckon me, giving me voice.