Bent willow by the rushing water

Days spent in the quiet ache of waiting
Pressed lip consonants and soft wet vowels
Dull repetition needed to bring us together
The possible made real by the simple choice
Again and again
Of you

The days ticking by which promise some future yes
Lost in the drift
Of seconds ripping
On razor wings
Each moment an agonize
In which the only balm is the thought of you

Though through the haze of fogged up desire
Still
Quietly I bleed
Patters against the tile
Curling steam in a chill air

How dangerous the need
To have you by my side
I feel myself rushing to you
And wish
I could see you
Rushing to me

Veins

all choosing and not choosing leads down branching paths
each word spoken, written or left unsaid is a choice
each step, fast or slow, each breath we take

yet we feel these moments when something possible slips away
and we cannot help but regret them.  I don’t know if this possible slips away for good.  I don’t know if what I chose to keep on course with will be what I need.
I don’t know

Uncertainty makes us grasp and reach for the differing branch
the unknown, the possible always seems like the better choice
because that world is a fantasy
It doesn’t have the problems of the one we chose
Because we do not envision the problems, only the ideal.

And maybe it would be great, amazing even
I have the feeling it would be
But right now
Where I am now
I could not imagine life without
and because I could not
A choice, a word, it all had to be said
And decided
For now