The Wanting

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    The Wanting

    I want~

    to lick the butter

    from your hands

                           and

        drink the wine

    that

    trickles from your lips

                                and sip

           your delicate elixir          

     

                                                          I want to touch

                                                               your mouth

     

                                                         or do you doubt

                                                         my intent

     

                                                                      or are you

     

                                                                      just spent

                                                                 on definition . . ?

     

                                                                             Can I mix

                                                                             my soul with yours

     

                                                                             and taste the kiss

                                                                             upon your tongue

     

                                                                             and feel you in my skin

                                                                             like sweat in my pores

     

                                                                             I breathe . . .

                                                                             I breathe you in

     

                                                                                               like the air

                                                                              you take for granted

     

                                                              Y e t  .  .  !

     

                                                              I  feel

                                                              You’re choking me

     

                                                                            and know

                                                               I can not breathe

     

                                                               you know

                                                               I can not be

     

                                                               B l i n d e d  .   .   !

    into ~

    not seeing myself

                   anymore

                                                                but for

                                                                the reflection

     

                                                                        on the floor

                                                                of drizzled tears

                                                                                                             Instincts . .

     

                                                                                                             mask

                                                                                                             the mask you wear

                                                               deception dance

                                                               along your sleeve

     

                                                                in single file

                                                                in order of the lie

                                                                                                           and

                                                                             that drop of saltiness

     

                                                                             that wanders

                                                                             down your cheek

     

                                                                                       is not a tear

                                                                                     that I believe

     

                                                              yet . .

     

                                                              in my stupor

                                                              in my daze

     

                                                              I’m still clear enough

                                                                      to make my way

     

                                                                                     through

                                                          your complicated maze

     

                                                    you masturbate my senses . !

    Still . . 

     

    I want to kiss

     

    your lipstick

    painted purple lips

     

                                                          I  want to caress

                                                         your full and swollen hips

     

                                                         that calls me slave

                                                         that calls my name

     

                                                         o u t   l o u d  . . !

     

                                                                                             and

     

                                                                                  is familiar

                                                                               to my touch

     

                                                                                         I raised my head

                                                                                             that’s perched

     

                                                                               between

     

                                                                                          my tired hands

     

                                                                                                and peered

                                                                         between my matted hair

     

                                                             L o c k s  .  .  !

     

                                                             that fall like rain

     

                                                                              against

                                                                my wetted face

     

                                                              S t a i n e d   .   .   !

    I gaze

    into a darkened daze

     

                your nakedness

     

    against

    the early dusk of fall

                                                              like a virgin

     

                                                              that takes a lover

                                                              for the first time

     

                                                                            you call  .  . !

     

                                                               b u t ~

     

                                                               I refuse to hear

     

                                                                            and dare

     

                                                                             my body

     

     

                                                            N o t   t o   L i s t e n

     

     

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    In science one tries to tell people, in such a way as to be understood by everyone, something that no one ever knew before. But in poetry, it's the exact opposite.

    Franz Kafka (1883-1924) Czech writer.

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