This Secret Passion

Still

I think of you

In the empty space of a quiet morning

and the dark reaches of a lonely night.

That absent touch, so eagerly awaited.

Longing, my body aches for

the mystery that binds us,

forever unrequited.

Drawn out over the years and

never quite fulfilled,

It consumes me, though,

This secret passion.

It consumes me though

never quite fulfilled.

Drawn out over the years and

forever unrequited.

This mystery that binds us.

Longing, my body aches for

that absent touch, so eagerly awaited.

In the dark reaches of a lonely night

and the empty space of a quiet morning,

I think of you.

Still.

©Maria Orlandi, 2024