Desolate

You sit there

with me

on this white patio swing

and I’m waiting

for your

hand

to hold

mine

and as your eyes

look out at the

wheat  

waving their

fingers at us  

in our direction

all I want

is for those

emerald eyes

to look

back to

me.

But even as

I keep sitting

here, reaching out

for you,

I need you

to reach out for me.

If you don’t,

then what’s the point?

The will to love must come from both,

and I can’t keep doing this  

Alone.