Title? Je ne sais pas...

The sun is hiding from you behind a veil of moist gray
He cannot bear to view such brilliance

Fret not in his absence,
For his paltry rays of warmth are easily surpassed
By the fervent flames that course through my veins;
No quake could ever rock the earth quite so fiercely
As the uncontrollable tremors that wrack me;
No dam has ever denied a river more obstinately
Than the boulder that blocks up my breath;
No drum beats, no woodpecker drills so deafeningly
As the throbbing heart that seeks to flee my ribcage

at the slightest brush of your silken hair
across my parched skin
or the faintest hint of your gentle scent
passing by my starving nose
or the most fleeting glance from your piercing eyes
resting on my forlorn figure

A mere foot of peeling wood separates my fingers,
suddenly enervated,
From your achingly smooth hand;
Twelve agonizing inches remain of my journey;
my pilgrimage

The grooves in the plank between us
Have never been so deep, so dark, so dangerous.

Isn't it odd that I get inspired to write a love poem when I'm not in love?