Motion.

Loving, adored, strange
inner smile,
Stretched back a mile to
that first of firsts,
Stabbing thirst, it yearns
inside,
Burns in the onset of
that emotive
tide,
What you do, unclear, but
moved the unmoved,
Removed that outer shell,
lighting and warming
that inner chill,
Spilling out to none, but
that first of firsts,
Thirst, yearning to quench
in every way and form,
But burning, flooding, this
emotive storm...
-END-
(C) D.C. Chapman
01/31/2013