A destructive yearning.

To moon
as if stricken by some sort of
destructive yearning for
a very distant star.
To bleed
inwardly
and outwardly
for the dim and
distorted reflection
of a face.
To smell
the dust of
your affection
and
to sing
a lullaby
for a fantasy
made of earth
and vapour.
What is this
sensation of
being convulsed,
devoured
and annihilated
by this remote
flower
that stands
solitary
on this hill
some call
the heart.
A heart
is a tundra;
icy cold,
infertile,
reserved and
shy.
This flower
some call
Love
is spread
all over
this heart
like moss
on a
lonely rock
or some
long forsaken
stairs
hidden on
a shady forest;
a forest
some call
the soul.
You are
the flower,
the seed
that grows in
me
like pain
eats the
light away,
like absence
erases
every will
for hope,
like expectation
destroys
my whole life
because
every frozen
day and night
of my
eternal winter
I wait for you
to come
and replace this
vacant space
that is never filled.
I wait
and wait
until my eyes
bear tears
and fall
over you,
the seed
that always grows
and grows
and becomes
larger than me,
overcomes my power,
dominates my life,
overthrows me,
intoxicates me,
kills me
deep inside.

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