melted

acting out intent

the synonym i find for your symptoms spells out "touch-starved". clarity stands alone against the questions you keep unspoken, purpose unknown, intentions unclear. the rotation of your wrist, a silent plea, outstretched towards me. i take it in stride, walking with you until the sound of my footsteps still carries the message of my adoration. there is a lonely post in solitude that we stand under, backs turned. do you think of me when your hands grasp at loose threads or just what i represent?
the straightforward meaning of what i say is not effortless. i lose myself in the semantics of the language of love. the bluntness stems from fear and coping mechanisms. our gears turn differently but i seek to oil your hinges, make life as efficient and beneficent as possible. i know i have become a natural obstruction, but my goal is to blend to your sound, melt in your arms until there is nothing discernibly left of me without you.
someone said that when you write enough sonnets about someone you are in love with your writing rather than the subject matter, so i change my tune. a motivic analysis of rutter in my stride, i take on the challenge of a requiem aeternam, an eternal slumber on your shoulder, hearts beating in tandem.
i intend to love you.