Like the winter winds of mid-summer she lay beyond his reach.
Arms and fingers, stretched to their limits, rage against the world
That placed a chasm of chance and choices between them.
A shadow’s veil forever marking one and marring the other.
A rumble of rage, buried and reburied deep, etches it’s way to his lips and tongue.
Lips and tongue longing for a joining are left empty, vacant, and alone.
Passion’s swell and crest boil and burst forth across time and tide
As his heart’s need drifts beyond that which any can see.
Fingers reach out to touch him. To hold him.
An anchor once more for a shiftless soul to tether until with strength anew he takes one more step.