In wanderlust

In wanderlust I still suffer and I want to run away from        everything that encircles your taste, your face, your ghost           and the songs that sings out from your lips,  I fear that I have to reveal my hidden secrets upon your listening ears, and when you stand so close to me         like thick foggy asthma,  I can’t breathe easily while I hear you like the birdsongs up from the green and violet trees I hang my courage on these lips           trembling with questions the fear of losing perpetually sinks in,  I am a defeat,  so I distance myself from the recognition it’s funny that I still         find myself, liking you every little thing about you.