My soul sings wild —
A melody of loves and hates,
Of raptures and aches,
A song singular and unbound.
I call out
To him, to it, or maybe to myself —
Echoes lingering at fate's sharp bend,
Waiting, always waiting.
Love and desire burst from my throat,
Primal sounds searching, seeking
Connection at the razor's edge
Of being and becoming.
I am the song.
I am the singer.
I am the sound.
