vine of desire

Longing stirs again,
not very pretty but
like a birth pang,
shooting, aiming for its end,
with no discretion or regrets.

I pine again
for the impossible,
each pore craving nirvana,
no peace till its reached,
where it belongs.

I twist and turn
each passing moment, only a wait
for the expecting, next one.
Maybe, just maybe i'm lucky
even for a little while.

For a presence
that drenches my whole being,
quenches with only a sip,
only for a long wait,
that"ll surely be stronger,
hungrier than the first.