Sometimes I just want the comfort of your name. To find a hiding place deep in the woods, next to the lake where the tree branches are strong enough to bend but not break under the weight of my despair.
Sometimes I just want the comfort of your shoulder; a place to lay my head,
where every gesture becomes symbolic, and the reservoir can actually see the forest and not just the pines.
Sometimes I just want you to love me, and to hear your naked soul articulate psalms of serenity in a fluent tongue of security. Fluidity in body and spirit.
Sometimes I want the impossible- blood out of stone, fire out of water, so I sit here alone. Drunk on undrinkable wine, and a deluded dream devoid of everyday truth. Just hoping every now and again light will prick my skin. And, that one day, the imagery fruit I yearn for will find its season.