No completion

written on August 27, 2018

A few steps away from the gates of closure, I ran away.
Such is a longing that seeks no end. No completion.
Wouldn’t it be mundane, having you for real?
I’d stop creating. I’d stop lingering in madness.
How dull would be the days with no daydreams of you.

The nerve crumpling nervousness, my sweet inadequacies.
The restlessness that I turn into poetry and movement.
The nights I dwell in art and lines we stroke our bodies with.
The textures and colours we blend with our tongues.
The empires that my heart created in your honour.
The overflowing emptiness of your lost significance.
I bring it back and nurture it and ask it to stay.
My longing is so profound. It weighs me down so gently.

It is everlasting strings tugging at my chest.
It is taking stupid detours, putting my head to rest.
It is running in the rain, as if towards you.
It is looking at the sky, sticking my head out of windows.
It is running my fingers through my hair, absently.
It is lying flat on my back and sighing in discontent.
It is anxiety wrapped into a dress and dreadlocks.
Look at how I lie, look at how I lie to myself.
I have no reason but I’ve been struggling since.
To define the petals that have been blossoming,
since you’ve come and gone.