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And I'm always longing for

what's long gone,

and I'm not sure I'll ever feel

complete

because I know

I want you to fill me.



And I stumble from one

hard fall to the next

breaking my being open

and losing all the pieces,

and finding you instead of me

but not seeing

that these seams don't match up



and the organ is rejected and convulsing

and resenting

and writhing all along.



Intention does a fat lot of good

when you're looking the wrong way.



And we scream

and cry

and tear each other apart

all over

and over and over again...



Nothing is filling this gaping hole

I didn't know was there

until you pointed and retreated



And I was an open wound

falling in

staring and understanding

all too well.