the wooden door

behind the wooden door
at midnight i felt the floor
as i walked to my soft spoken bed
in the heat of this long summer spell
i surrendered my dream and fell.
the youth who can be no more
found crying on a pillowed shore
weeps softly to not arouse a head
finds pleasure in a single fashion
fitfully yearns for love & passion.
behind the wooden door
anguish from a throat is tore
rushed to the nearest window pane
and looks outside, but all is rain.