Wanting

I dare not whisper your name
for I’m afraid it’ll stop the dew
from falling

I dare not touch your face
for I’m afraid it’ll break the mask
off of your face

I dare not wander out at night
for I’m afraid I’ll find you waiting
around the bend
and you will see through my eyes
that I’m still holding on

the wanting
like dead flowers
drying and crumbling

 

An old poem, never been published before, written in November 2014.

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