What islands must we breach, in a faraway dreamland, where the habits we keep, are safely out of reach, and the love we share, is a language we can finally comprehend?
What mystical gardens must we sow, where joy and hope is the grain that we grow, and your hand is the vine, connected to the very root of my soul?
What maps must we hunt, what fear do we uncover, that leads me to the forest where you are my lover?
What secrets do we bury, so your mask is less heavy, and my shadow will feel more like a friend not in a hurry?
What ship must I sail, on what troubles do we travail, will you follow me out of hell, can you live to tell our tale (what if I fail)?
What skin must we shed, what sorrow do we part, show me through the doors, that will lead to your heart, past the halls of the longing, through the deeds where we get our first start?
© Delia Ross. 2019
I need him so much it actually hurts…