How much longer can I resist your pull?

Can you tell? How I am constantly drawn in

from that sweet air across this enigmatic river?

But only to the edge, where I pussyfoot and ponder,

bemused by moon's cast on unstill water.

Oh, how I am well aware

that this constant stream connects,

yet still divides us.

 

I am just dying to wring myself free

of all the words that burn beneath my skin;

this viscosity, gnashing and howling for release.

These words, my blood. And

for such a silent, self-aware truth?

 

Is this not, in some manner,

a clandestine pantomime?;

a wordless dance between two hearts?

You must know that our flowers

have overgrown their hearths-

how we are everbent by the wind; our petals

billowing, whispering, aching to touch.

Leaning, leaning, leaning;

 

never leaning close enough.