It takes control, as
Quietly it sneaks in,
Thinking the thought
That we are just friends.
But the gentle pressure,
Of a gentler hand against
My back, shatters what
Eloquence my words
Once had.
And,
In explaining every pang,
of longing and regret
I find a justification
For every hour,
of sleep I have unspent.
In all the things I do,
The meaning escapes.
The tendrils of reason
Reach. Find nothing.
And fall.
But only up to the point
Where you walk in
And you are the one,
I get to hold.
