The world kept moving,
And cows continued mooing.

The sky changed colours,
But the moon remained discoloured.

It had been months,
And all I had heard were my own grunts.

I hadn't stopped complaining,
About my life's failings.

Like one where my romance wasn't returned,
The foolishness that I yearned.

But one night when I layed in bed,
With a quarantined head.

I realised all I needed was love.

To be my own dove.

i have a yearning
a desire which pangs at my ribs
that aches like an old lover's betrayal
to run into the forest barefoot
to climb up mountains for no reason
swim with my clothes on in the ocean

i yearn to make myself a home
in the feeling of spontaneity.

Your heart yearned for the love made from my wounds.