…of yearning

Desire stretches its wings
casting invisible strings
across the hollow chambers
of my already aching heart
where the mere thought of you
creates vibrations
awakens my imagination
softly beckoning me
to the faint whispers
of memories
that I have long discarded

possession eludes form
ethereal and drifting
slipping in and out of reach
my soul searches for you
in the vast ocean of stars
and the restless tide
that ebbs and flows
the echoes of us
now lingering in limbo
where those taught strings
weave their dark creations
their songs of pleasure and pain
…carrying me into the depths
of my devastation…

circling like a summer storm
reflections of you, trembling
in the corners of memories
a dark portrait of desire
its’ paint still bleeding
pooling at the edges
where shadows beckon
without thinking
…I reach
for you…
my fingers trembling
like leaves in winter
like a newly hatched bird
like all of the lost
and the abandoned

my heart bereft and broken
hopelessly seeking something
…something undefined
something not lost…
but scattered, like broken glass
images of us reflected in the dark
forever out of reach
…yet even now I still search
not for desire itself…
but for the inexplicable pleasure
and the inevitable pain
of reaching
for the essence of desire
lies in the moments
between breaths

the anticipation and the surrender
the endless ache
that feeds the soul
desire calls, light as a feather
but its’ song is always heavy
with the weight of emptiness
and the echoes of yearning
can never be denied
the horizon is always beckoning
its’ soft edges shimmering
painted with promises
that it knows it will never keep
© Ann Bagnall