Why

So much anguishing
for such a small thing,
the burning touch
and parching heat,
lips that part
and swallow the need.

Why spend so much
of our precious time
relinquishing to
our untapped desires?

Better to
take up a hobby,
investment banking,
bird watching,
the hybridization
of exotic day lilies,
perhaps?

Why then look painfully raw
concentrically unavailed,
romanticizing
of the  fortuitousness
of finding perched
upon the arm rest
of our broken dreams
a lover who will fulfill
our fantasies of Matterhorn
kissing booth lovers,
waking and taking us
to those bare cragged heights
of unchanneled ecstasy?

Why not settle
upon the ice flow of despair
and chisel down the crusted link
that chains us to our prison
in the school yard of loneliness?

Would drifting off be so very terrible
considering the loss exposed
by our daily revisiting
the touchless catacombs
of inner space, unclaimed
for eons by a hand as empty
as the moon-pocked desert
of the sphere's solemn dance
around her earth,
her celestial soul mate,
she's lost
at an arm's distance
to the fatal forces
of the stable sun?

Why still chase the elusive
when only faintest glimpses
can but be returned
the squinted knowing eye
that sees its too late lateness
only serves a hospice
for a heart far gone,
what matter?

The promise
of a single kiss
restores the powers
to their steering
and the sails
unmocked are freed
to wrestle with the sky.

This is a challenge
worth saving,
and so I write.

runningturtle87