Aching

Biting the skin off my lips,

revealing the tender flesh beneath.

Sick with anticipation.

I can’t wait to move forward.

I need to be patient and sit in the moment.

Stop thinking so much.

Feel the present.

Be the present.

I want to create and dance

in fields of my own fertile blood.

My youth,

twinkling around,

scantilly clad,

in my own love.

That feeling still sits, sick

with anticipation

of being friends.

Please hurry.

Get better.

The flavours of our youth

are slipping away.

There isn’t enough time

to waste this time.

We need more.

Or to embrace what we have,

because you may not be dead now

but one day we will be.

I shall not waste this life,

this love.

I'll see you on the otherside,

When we're both

older

and

wiser.

Down by the end of the river,

together we will sit,

and combine.