Do you know that I honestly desire you? It is inexplicable and I wish I could dismiss this to some other explanation: anything possibly explained. I ponder this in my mind but there is this realization that it isn't lust.
I look at your picture and in my mind there is a longing to be close to you: I ache. To see your coal black eyes, to watch you intently: your smile, the movement of your hair as the sun catches it. I watch your waist, your hips as you walk, your hands so delicate touching your lips in pause. The glances you would give me, the life in your smile. Your laugh.
Caged and my imagination escapes forth from me like a sudden gust of wind and its fervent push across a vast plane: the leaves from trees carried away high on the sky (my body around yours, encompassing you, guiding you, caressing as I explore you.) All this morning my mind has been set on you. There is the grey sky. I feel alone in the cold air and my heart lacks rhythm.
I sit alone in solitude and Vivaldi is alive. With the crescendo my heart fills with longing for you. There is this passion that is strong, that rushes forth like a stallion in a galloped pace and I know only purpose. There is drive and I would come for you. I would embrace this cold and brave the night to find you. I see walls of stone, of thickets with briars, of forest so bare and low.
My soul is cut like the clothes from my body as limbs strike me and vine catch me. Yet I charge forth. Of streams of ice and banks of snow. My eyes fill with tears. Foam builds on his flanks! Mud flies under foot and stone-sparks ignite snow: this beast will not rest! There is but one urgency and that is to be held by you, in your embrace and you in mine.
What comfort can I find when you are not near and I cannot quench the longing of my heart? What word or prose can speak in-eloquence, what song could I sing? There is no relief and the divide is ever farther. What Shakespeare can match the sorrow of my heart: maybe irony. Solomon with all his riches, could not ransom my heart from these chains.
Where are my cries to go? There is no peace! There is only the silence left as these four seasons subside and the realization that in the eb of this tide, I am drowning with despair.