She's distant. Her side denied, I reach, I try.
I send my music. I send my poems. I touch her
hair but grasp air at home, alone. My fingers stretch,
grope with empty hope. Why do I try?
I can't have what I yearn for, can't stop the pain
when I learn more and get the message again and again.
What is wrong in my head?
A major blow, I know it's so as I pine
intent with no danger of threat, a warm, wavy crest
floods my body, my sex, my chest. I sigh, I cry for I
can't stop my lust, can't end it, can't say goodbye.
But she's distant, a lost cause though I love her so.
I feel her warmth and know I can't let myself let go
though she will never know who I am, how I feel. How could
she know when it will never be real?
I imagine it all. Maybe there's a chance she could find humor in,
be smitten with, something I am, a loving, caring, giving man...no.
There's despair for she's right there but, alas, it cannot, could
not ever come to pass. She's right there. She's distant.
