still, in the dark cold hours

of just-before-midnight and dawn,

i cry your name into the pillow, my

clichéd tears running on and on;

they’re drifting about midnight again

and my treacherous soul deceives me

in the intensity of desire and longing

for something that cannot be

i’ve tried to block out the dripping sound

of rain and my bloodied, dying tears;

but my want still lingers, wet and bitter-sweet,

like needles and pain left in childhood fears

my craving the need to feel you,

the need to feel you once more,

your arms holding me against you,

- peace and serenity, open doors -

your lips against mine, the comfort and love again-

your rough-whispered words

- against me, with me, passion and pain –

the need for you torturing me; unheard,

to hear your voice even, all i dare ask…

we’re held back by those who refuse to love

because love is too great a task

and i still feel pinioned,

though your love sets me free,

and i still feel the betrayal of my late-night tears

and how our love to them, is treachery;

my emotions drifting, like these tears

around and through the night

tormented by the truths laid bare

and the passions untouched by the computer light

flickering small and green in the gloomy dark;

exposing, naked, all my imperfections,

and the silence of the tinted, glassed electricity

marred by the shadowy reflections

of myself in the mirror, underneath sheets

that have never known you;

and the strength of what i long for

frightens me in it’s truth.