A beat, a drum.
Feeling and sound.
Awoken by
A face, a smile.
Eyes in a dream.

This feeling, I know,
Inside me dwells.
Growing, boiling.
Calling, screaming
To be freed.

In agony denied,
And yet, beheld.
I feel this need.

Yet time, I know,
Will pass this by,
With reward
Or cup ran dry.

Heart in hand,
And mind in heart.
“T’is thou
That be thine art.”