Love letter # 752

In the flush of this desire, I vanish. There is only falling. I have tried to rationalise it, explain it away, but longing is a language beyond the temptation of thought.

Yet, I shall not call it madness, nor offer it as absolution. If, in its wildness, it feels compelled to feed, then let it draw its blood from me.  

Just because I walk in lack, does not mean you are bounty.