Lesbian Poetry

She is me

I stare, eyes empty, at her I deny her, that face cannot be mine
regardless of static beauty or drab lackluster appearance
we have little in common
I know not my face, my name, who I am
I am blank, except for a nameless feeling
deep inside my soul
at once physical and something far more
so familiar, it tugs at me
what it desires, I know not
except that it needs it so desperately
I am lost, while she wants to found
to understand her, I know I must
first except
She is me