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.