with deep, heavy breathing

and eyes open in the dark of night,

you struggle with every fibre of the muscles

in your body

not to shout

his name.


you cannot see the bed

you are lying on,

you cannot see the vase of flowers

on your bedside table,

or the neighbouring building

just outside your window.


it is

only the darkness

and this desire

to shout

his name.


a tear of sweat

makes a trail from your brow,

down your cheek,

to your ear,

and then into darkness.

this is the map of your longing

and your suffering.


your hands turn to fists,

your feet hook into talons

and you arch your back

with resistance.


no, you will not call out his name.



you call out your own,

so loud it shatters the darkness

and punctures a hole through the sky


and a million stars

come crashing into you,

filling you


with celestial light

and freedom.



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