Inability to feel love is incomplete,

like only the inverse of union can be,

So unlike a circle,

but so close in places that sparks fly across.

Desire to quench this thirst is infinite,

but I am immune to the waters you bathe in

And the hunger to be whole

is a literal ritual.

Disability can blind your numb steps

And like night-sweats

There’s a fever.

Panic as I reach for what I feel inside,

Scrabbling at this vocabulary, these colours,

for some hint of what’s there.

But it can’t be reproduced,

this pain is incomplete.

Inability to give love is unholy,

Selfish desires refresh

Need to think alone

and be without this virtual reality

When all else fails

there’s still love,

but I can’t feel it, or smell it,

but in my dreams I imagine

That touch.

And nothing can ever get closer to me

than my isolation

And nothing could compare to a beautiful dream.

© PickledSparklyMoosePrincess – author


One thought on “Incompletion

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