Unsatisfied Poem by Melanie Emikohe

It feels like pain, it might be love,
punching the heart with holes
to breathe but too small to satisfy.

I lick a taste of it but scarce;
gasping for more to fill the space,
to get ecstatic, wild, intoxicated.

I weep before it gets to climax;
the road's too clueless to follow
that I eventually surrender.

To the hell with Love or Pain,
to cold hearts that hesitate,
too standard to override a moment

or too cocksure that one's heart
is infinitely patient, like the current
that always follows the stream.