I press my brow against

I press my brow against the glass window, Cold and foggy from the outside snow Interstates between our lone minds, Browning and putrid like orange rinds. I feel your heart beat in my hand’s palm, But the storm in it is far from calm. Feel me now, for I am young. My deep Longing to love is a lost sheep. My pulsing fingertips goes tap top tap, With a wonderfully played mishap.