They

all come to me
in search
of love.

It starts
as an inkling
a quiet need
that blossoms
rapidly into obsession,
into passion. It blossoms

only to wilt. Why can’t
I quit using the word,
why can’t I leave it
behind to the archives.

I want to cut thru the air
like a knife. I want to feel
sweat evaporate. You forgot
time and time again that I want
too.

4 Comments

Filed under Frustrations and Rants, lust and love, Musings

4 responses to “They

  1. *claps* You’ve got a great metre running through that poem. It has a rather sombre rhythm too.

  2. Thank you! I loved your comics, too!

  3. *mutual love fest*

    Thanks.

  4. I like this a lot too!

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