What is this excitement at your name, this digging hand I possess when thoughts of you are presented? Too old for me? Perhaps. But what is age in love? Another bachelor and bobby soxer? Will we be? Would we be, I mean.
What is the impression I have with every move you make, every word you utter? How can I keep up with this passion that is not love but cannot be mistaken for anything but? Everything I had wanted is in you. But too many years too old. Still I want it, though. Still I seek it, even as I avoid it.
So what is this thing I have for you, this exasperation in my heart? Every interest we share and yet...you are forbidden me, and I you. Call it infatuation. No return have you made me and for the first time since my heart turned stone it thrives again and despite the warnings of all within me I find myself unbridled in your eyes.
-For Lewis
YOU ARE READING
Unharnessed
PoetryThere is little we cannot think if we set our minds to it. -April Here I am, finally, after this wait I thought may never end, unharnessed in thought and in heart and in everything that matters. Within lies poetry, prose, deep musings, and random th...
