How I long
to love and be
loved as greatly
as the poetry
I write for humanity,

to be consumed and seen,
as I live a dream,
knowing that showing
the true me
will not end badly.

How I long
to know myself
and share that
with someone,
to let the tight brace
that carries my pain
be undone
cause I no longer need
the crutch that clutches
too tightly.

Like the ocean
that loves the moon,
as the night dies
far too soon,

like the snow
that melts
under heated passion
becoming
liquid love
and steamed breathes gasping,

though, I know I shouldn’t
I long for
the one thing
I want more
than life itself.