The Restless Poet

I brood,
drenched in the fevered infatuation,
tiny, green buds growing, swelling –
waiting to be amputated.

A riptide of jeweled obsession
bathed in the lineage of light,
seeps through the ravenous hunger

of awe,
longing to be chosen
from the cold-pressed shadows
of passion and fate.

The soft roots of truth
gather in the darkness,
agonizing, waiting, anticipating…
a breath-held ache of desire.