to interpolate the rationale as to why,
for me, you won’t reveal your notes
seems to be virtually unattainable.
we share a trust but you withhold the
cure that I seek. the junk i crave.
i covet to forge sweet music with you.
i want to compose a love song in sync
with the delicate caressing of your keys.
to share an instant when we witness
our home-made emotion boil out of the
saucepan. spill out onto the street.
to entwine itself somewhere in the
space between the libidinous lust and
animalistic like passion we combined
through the primitive times. instead i
am forced to sing alone. coerced
to brew confessions within confines
of silence, within confines of recluse.
© Leroy Wilson