Innermost Desire

Loneliness shows when there is no-one to talk to about poetry. No-one to share flowered words of love and trust, and of pain and joy with. Moon soaked nights, Lying awake, Forgetting that the world exists. All but you and I in this moment here. Talking of nothing, Yet it means everything. We as humans, have this ability, To open up and peel back the different layers of another's soul. If they so choose to let us in, Of course. How is there anything more bewildering than that? Seeing the beauty in them which they cannot see themselves. And telling them of it later. Tell me of your dreams and I will tell you mine. Let us sit in an overgrown garden. Where we can watch the stars.