You feel the press of these walls all night,
Each moment stolen, always out of sight.
In rooms where only shadows can see,
An unconditional love feels conditional to me.
You long for hands, that won’t shirk come light,
That won’t pull away nor hold on tight.
I long for lips, that speak without fear,
Of whom might judge or who may hear.
Yet still we hide, beneath our mask,
Each wondering why, yet never ask...
