I was sitting in a solitary daze and it was beating.
It was a beat of hard red flesh against my ribs.
It was a drugged hurt. It was all red.
Not the soft, calm and peaceful aura
Of elegance and charm,
But sharp, hard, angry, possessive.
It wrought its iron fist
Around the throbbing piece of flesh.
And it caught.
Choking- an unsaid desire to touch
What I cannot even see, perceive.
That innocent smile stopping a beat
And holding me in ice-cold glee.
A yearning to reach out and grasp
Something that will never be mine.
And cling on ferociously-
To fight for, to die for.
Why? Why? Why?
Why no answer?
A million questions and doubts.
But what if he forgot the question was ever asked?
What if the intention was never known?
Why is it so tough to ask?
Why does that iron fist pierce into
The cold red of my heart?
Petals of tenderness
Blush as they close the core truth shyly
But with fierce possession-
Tender tentacles that grip…
The iron fist that wraps a quiet heart.
Solitude not truly wanted though always sought,
Longing for what is not near-
So far… ah, so far….
Yellow moon, you are closer-
And you know that the iron fist
Grabs at my heart and hears it throb.
Why cannot I tell?
Why is my silence quieter that yours?
Ah… but that is the iron fist that closes my longing heart!!!