Left hand caresses the paper.
Blank answers outstretch the lines.
As water turns to vapors,
Which once soaked the dried-out vines.

Empty discussion surrounds the room.
Once words had filled those spaces.
Awkward and silent is present gloom.
Vacant, lost upon all the faces.

Hard to explain, impossible to ask.
Anxiety for rejection, dignity bruised.
Of single desire, of single task,
For such a desire must be refused.

Once wanting to fight and yell.
A jealous rage currently worn.
Impatience stole its position of tell,
And written pages scratched and torn.

But always hidden, but always hush.
Secret devotion, unspoken craving for lust.
Untold but so obvious - its signs, its blush.
Still silent, still vacant, no one to trust.

Final words have been spoken,
Last chances have had their try.
Red and swollen eyes from the broken.
No more condensation of tears to pry.

As the brittle vine can only stall,
Till rain shower, to quench dying thirst.
As one patiently does for next fall,
To feel passionate lust once again burst.

Until old desire, old flame has long past,
And all has evaporated from skin.
A rain shower of new desire my last.
Moisture fill vines, as rain begins.