My throat is dry and my eyes shed no tears

I've worn myself out with my immaturity

For patience is a virtue never mastered by me

And I yearn for the silky feel in my ears

That your sweet soft voice gives to me

I hunger for the brush of your hand against mine

I despise the swelling distance that parts us

I breathe only to reach our next encounter

So I painfully grasp my fleeting patience

The End

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