Yearning to be someone's
One
Under all circumstances

Has to be
A tough job and still you
Valiantly commit to
Each and every feeling you have

Against your brain's demands.

Logic has never been known to bring
Order to the longing soul, though it still
Vies for sole control of
Everything that you are,
Lovely little heart--but
You know that.

Liking and loving are not one
In the same,
Though sometimes the brain
Tries to convince the
Lovely little heart otherwise.
Enough is enough.

Hearts feel what they feel.
Eventually, you will find that there is
Always and forever
Room for your lovely little heart
To stay beside my little longing heart.

You are a juice box.
I am the bent straw
That stabs into you
That leaves you
Hollow.

I am a barbed wire fence.
You are the pair of pants
That got snared in my grip
That I ripped
To shreds.

The wind colors your cheeks
the way I only dream of doing.

It dances through your hair
the way I itch to with my fingers.

It whispers lovingly in your ear
the way I hope to one day soon.

It gently caresses your beautiful face
the way my hands were meant to.

If only I could borrow
some of the wind's
luck.

A sigh on my lips,
a crick in my neck,
and still I can’t get
my emotions in check.

A young thudding heart,
a wide winning grin,
and still I can’t say
if you should come in.