these words are brittle,

                                    hot

where did this fever come from?

this ache

                        deep within me

reflected through my eyes

into the night sky

in a thousand years

            will my cry of longing

reach the ears

of another creature condemned

to existence?

or will be it consumed

by the sounds of all things

living and not

                        the screams, the groans, the sighs

the whispers

fool that I am to wonder

but I cannot help but find the hint of

an answer all around me

in the eyes of another

            in the fog of early morning

in the blush of love’s cheek

in the wistful smile that plays

across my lips

so much,

            so much is this

my life

            my life.