Itch

You're the itch that I can't scratch, inches away from the small of my back.

Too far and too close for either to hope.

The only thing to turn this around will be you

Clawing at my back out of burning, desperate need.

Nails dig deep, but not as deep as you do.

My heart and my skin, in tandem they bleed.

To heed all and have nothing returned,

This is the part where hearts start to churn.

The love we need must be earned, but only in the moment the scratch is returned.