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I long
for recognition,
kudos for my poetry,
kind words for my song, for my story
I long
for a soft, solid body,
pressed against mine,
lips upturned, smiling,
calling me sweet names,
whispering, “Kiss me, now, before the world ends”
Is it the same me
that longs for both?
The child,
abandoned at birth,
forlorn still,
life forestalled,
looking for warmth and worth and wonder
in magical words, in esteem,
in sensual touch, in affection, connection,
spiritual or otherwise
No, I long
to be whole in myself,
my heart
weighed with responsibility,
steeled with strength,
airborne with
knowing
what, and who, it is I am
Marc Mannheimer
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