A
frequency of love that combines raw, physical hunger with deep, spiritual devotion. It is
the feeling of being an alien in the city, waiting for the one person who speaks your language to finally text back. It is lusting after him at night, but praying for his soul
in the morning.
We are 138, static in the city air,
A secret code for a true love, rare and bare.
I’m the alien waiting on your signal, on your text,
Terrified of what I feel, wondering what comes next.
I watch the phone, the
black glass, the empty space,
Just starving for a pixel that resembles your face.
It’s a fever, this craving, it lives
under my skin,
A wet heat, a sickness, where the fantasies begin.
I cream at the thought of you, a dangerous tide,
My body betrays the secrets that I try to hide.
But when the heat breaks, the silence returns,
And the lust turns to care as the candle burns.
I fold my hands
in the dark and I send it above,
A plea for your health, enveloped in love.
I pray for your heart, for your breath,
I pray for your joy, even while we’re apart.
I pray for the "us" that I know we can be,
A future where you are standing with me...my love.