This maddening itch in my heart is like–
poison woven into tissue,
sepsis radiating from the site
where unspoken words putrefy
in anger and hope, toxifying
blood, anxious for salve.
dreams and wishes withering
under reality’s hot sun, lost;
an empty hole in a brick wall
betraying its completion;
absence yearning for touch.
desire unnamed, the chafing
of which tears the hole wider,
fraying thread and loosening
buttons until the entire fabric
compels thorough refashioning.
a deep wound beginning to heal,