somehow glowing

I feel how it burns inside of me, it's a slow, glowing burn.
When I see her like this, at the height of her performance I want to cry. Afterwards I get up and restlessly walk around, climb up on a rooftop, gaze into the night, smoke a cigarette maybe or maybe I just sigh.
I feel the burn then, hot and smooth. Waiting for me to come. Waiting for me to find it. To find out what it is. What the fuck it is.
The love, the struggle. The music. The visuals. The story. The magic. The moving of my soul, fluttering like helpless winglike sheets in the wind.
Ah, see, words can't be it. I play with you, I caress you, I dance with you. But my whales go somewhere else. They are tearing me apart at times but still, after all, I feel a sense of where they are going. Down, south, somehow.

Ah, when I think of her. Of her brown eyes and the quiet smile. It's heart wrenching. She, too, plays the piano and the minutes open their wings in the minute she touches the keys. They open my windows they open my soul. Then she cooks something from the middle east and shows me what she learned in her Farsi class just now. Oh, when she is. With me. Is it a mere mirage, a dream so close that I can feel its breath stroke my tongue? Ah, so thirsty. So thirsty I am. Love is glowing. Love is glowing there. I might go and follow my whales. I might go and live with her. I might go and study. I might change direction midfall. Oh. You.