I look for you but you're not here

Do you think
because you're out
and I'm reading my palms
like a gypsy,
that you have freedom?

Maybe you do.
And I'm the one in Vulcan's furnace
dipping my burning heart in oil

while one drop of desire
would save my life.
Now that the coast is clear
and the Holy Ghost
is in my nerves; I look for you

but you're not here.

[Joseph Ceravolo {1934-1988}, 'Savage Nocturne', from Collected Poems]