What are Years?
I asked you once, secretly –
my hands tangled within the fragments
of tissue paper.
They are not wanting to go,
I answered for you; your eyes -
the pours of an unusual me -
a witness knowing the power
of sight; a touching distance
where love creates.
They say the need is more hungry
than the wait,
but with the way it cures itself,
I cannot compete. This is a place
of never knowing, of always
a fate as nothing yet;
strange thirsts for my ever
hurting heart, strange ambitions