gods, she calls me
and I cannot answer.
it is torture to feel her phantom touch
and have to imagine the warmth of her skin.
gods, she calls me
and I am helpless.
I feel handprints on my shoulder blades
but there is nothing there to see.
gods, she calls me
and I cannot begin to fathom the road I must take
to be privy to her deepest, most innermost secrets.
gods, she calls me
and there is no warmth for me to touch.
I cannot reach out for her sleeping form when I awaken before the daylight can touch her.
I am left to sleep through it when nightmares create a terrifying cavity in my chest to fall into.
my blood boils in the thought of her soft sunshine
or maybe it is a memory?
her moonlight cascades down my face
like my hair when I let it down
and I cannot begin to describe how much I wish it was her hands
gods, she calls me
and I love it and hate it at the same time.
fate might love to torture me.
gods, she calls me
pulling at that little red thread in the center of my chest
and I am helpless as I feel her tugging at it,
as if curious,
and suddenly start yanking as hard as she could.
it tells me she is searching for me,
she is calling to me with all the strength in her body.
but I cannot answer
because my mind traps me here with fear
and it is the worst punishment of all.