For when you want your love to burn the village down and all you can manage is a broken matchstick.
For when you want to tear clothes off by hand but are left with an order of unbuttoning and unclipping.
For when you want to write so fiercely but only end up with an adolescents mental ejaculation.
For when you want all the ‘for when’s’ to vanish, but they linger in the back of your mind, anchoring reality to your soul, blazes your eyes, manifesting it on your skin.
p.s. this is a repost of an older poem with the added ‘For when’s’