The Feeling
Why is it I’m afraid of you,
You who are so incredibly unavailable,
That I cower at the sight of you?
I know your face from when it was
Still an angel
Who I couldn’t touch,
And yet, now it is the face
I can’t help but touch
With my mind’s tongue
Searching air for your truth.
A coward
Because it is only my imagination
That allows me to embrace you.
You don’t know it
But I can’t see you without wanting
To see more.
There is something that
Feels like a haven,
Something that feels like
An excitement I can’t find
When I look at fields of soy
Or meadows of flowers.
I’m supposed to love
This dude who stood over me
The superior supplier
Of monetary and otherwise
Specialties and goods,
But I only see you,
Always at the moment
Is true love
When I would be happy to think of you
Guilt free
Without ever actually
Holding your cheeks
Or caressing your chin?
Is true love when
I acknowledge
I am in
The deep apology?
Why does your voice
Disarm me
And why must it always be me
Who forgets that
My knife is sharp?