You call my name and in an instant I feel comforted.
It is you for whom my heat yearns.
Still, I brush off the yearning and feed it second hand knock-offs.
Pulling away as if there is something I fear. Protection and safety satisfy this longing at times but this too will diminish soon.
Love is not the appropriate term, for I love sounds, phrases, words and sights. But none bring me the joy and relief that you're voice alone can bring me.
Alas, what does one murmur to oneself when trying to fathom your splendor?
Love does not and will never suffice.
Perhaps one day I shall be able to grasp what it is that you do to this ever beating, yearning, muffled heart of mine.