Desk
I yearn for the comfort behind those precious eyes,
behind the calming voice,
behind the kind spirit,
behind the honest words,
rigid on the coldness of my desk,
with one ear restricted from the noise,
and one open to it,
with my tears gravitating towards the cold,
and my eyes shot up towards the bright light,
with my palm pressed against the hard surface,
and my fingers reaching the seat nearby,
I yearn the comfort,
provided it comes first for my hand.
- opon