Insomnia poem
A poem, and I ask
What is the word for the waiting?
What is a name for the longing,
that sits molten and warm within me,
when sunlight fades,
and when minutes elongate into hungry uncertainty?
I will my body and mind to wait,
to hold, to pause
Because of the rhythm of worries
Yet while my mind obeys,
my body forges ahead.
Desire and intrigue, when I bring the image to mind
conjured intensity and tenderness matched
like we are both near blind.
We get as close as the mingling of sand and sea,
the rhythm of our heartbeats resound like waves
crashing all over me.
And though I loathe to admit such fervent energy
At any given moment of any day,
my stomach overturns to remind me.

