Of going feral

It's spring,
it's life, it's promise of summer,
like never before the birds are singing,
outer layers are shedding
because winter is over.

Feet again firm on the ground
and the blood starts to boil
as you hear the heart pound
because it wants the embroil,
it knows the full moon is coming
and there you are, like a widow,
half broken, waiting
by the window
for what was left undone,
for one who may never come.

If this is another hunger,
then you are starving.

10/10/2019