I have dreamed all the possibilities,
played to all the fantasies,
lived in dreams for years where this, whatever it is, works,
and then I start awake,
and I’m back to loving you from afar.

Seeing you, formed before me.
A torch-able being,
living, speaking,
lighting up in just the way I imagined.
This is what elation is.
It hits me days after, but the bittersweet taste bites my tongue.

I know truly what longing and loneliness is.
Unlucky in Love, I am.
Yet the insanity I claimed fails to stick with the finality of your embrace.
In some world, maybe we are together—
We must be, because my heart has never jumped like this.

I am ignited, wanton in my wanting,
but nevertheless reminded I am alive.
Speculation does me no good;
the proof has morphed into a cruel torment of what I am missing.
Now the concept of you repeats,
frail and over used.

In this moment, as I soar above the dreams of those who pray, I want you.
Hot in my hand,
catching my breath with yours,
silencing my running mouth with a palpable glance.
Not through convoluted mediums, but immediate.

I want you real.
And then I wake,
And then I wake,
And then I wake.