You never realize the presence of solitude
until the wind ceases its tirade.
Slow kisses against your skin, raising ideas
and conceiving love in the forms of
dilated pupils and reaching hands.
The comfort in knowing the forces of
the Earth keep our souls breathing
and our hearts teeming, doubled in the
expectation of a solid hand pushing us to
brighter beginnings and sunset endings.
When the wind dies down, all expectations
fall with rotting trees that will never know the
touch of flesh, the warmth of blood dancing
just below the surface of their calloused shields.
Solitude seeks company,
but death seeks us all.