A caterpillar creeps along the grass.
It never ponders its purpose in life.
Blades of grass grow, stretching up to heaven.
They never ask why they are in the ground.
Yet I ask why I long deeply for you.
I ache to press my lips against your own.
I long to wrap my arms around your waist.
Why do you have such power over me?
Nature never questions its own design.
It simply does what it's designed to do.
Having no intelligence, just instinct.
They adhere to London's "Call of the Wild."
Yet we are built to think before acting.
Our whole existence seems to be conflict.
We fight ourselves, others, circumstances.
We have to, our being screams for chaos.
We have a wildness that burns everything.
How I desire to be burned by you though.
To be left in ashes, smoking and scarred.
To feel your heat against me, scorching me.
