End.

I always heard the ticking
But never saw a face
Smelled beautiful places  
To be denied a simple taste
 
The beckoning
Of both time and space
Held promises
Always meant to break
 
A hunger made me face
That I was never to see
To never appease  
Hell
To never feel you breathe
 
So kindly
I ask,
 
Let the spaces fill
Give faith that the hands will
Push forth what would otherwise  
Be still
 
Give the future a small taste
Perhaps an ocular treat
Or maybe  
Just maybe
Expand enough to formally meet.