And what of this?

He speaks but remains silent still.
I want yet caution and harbour a safe distance.
I expose all yet have confidence in my invisible shields.
There is no stronghold but a tightening grip.

Neither here nor there, he is my inspiration and my writer’s block.
My enigma and my un-riddled truth.

I ache but will not permit agony’s flute to sing my song.
I want to be anger but can not muster fury.

I have no right.

I am sure yet a million miles away form certainty.
He is the concept falling short of actualization. My insides decree with no accord to my mind. Shaking the tree he sits under hoping for a eureka that will not come while gravity’s lateral effects have brought me to my senses and have left my senses to me.

I want but cannot have and have but can not want.