I feel him rummage through my midnight hollow
fingering my heart,yet he will not follow.
His calloused hand move like hours
I blossom and bloom, but wilt like flowers.
I yearn for his stem, his waves, his oil,
then a part of his lips leads me to recoil.
I ache for touch, but my swells still clench,
I turn toward him, the reward of his wrench.
How is skin so familiar? Fingertips so strong?
This is what happens, when time turns for too long.
My pillowcase creases with the gnaw of my fist,
daylight is easy, but night can’t resist.
He is planted so deep, so deep in my dreams,
my body is taken by the past that screams.
His hands tick, with the minutes, away,
with the rise of the sun, my light starts to fade.
Deep in my screams, I run till I wallow
into the dark, my midnight hollow.