Lilac skies, and early mornings.
A steady sigh of recognition towards being alive; a captivating obligation.
The endless crave for the trace of your hand.
How I raced with dusk to get to where you were.
How I crush grapes into wine just to feel something.
How the clouds interrupt the sun to keep my skin from burning.
How my dreams resurrect a merciless reality to prove what was left unseen.
How the birds and crickets trill, hoping to be found, but settle for just being heard.
And isn’t that all this is?
Isn’t it just wanting to feel anything?
Isn’t there always some desire for burning?
Isn’t reality just what we perceive it to be?
Aren’t we all rioting to be found?