Want

I want to feel the warmth of his body against mine.

I want to feel the prickly chin gently pressed against my cheek.

I want to be held and cradled like a child nestling with it’s mother.

I want to be adorn like the bold Mona Lisa and her smile.

I want to feel the scraggly hairs enmeshed with mine.

I want to fold in together like playing cards or the pieces of origami.

I want to feel thousand little deaths in one night’s sitting.

I want to feel loved and not revolted with force.

I want him to appreciate every single pink line trailing my skin.

I want us to laugh the gentle kind of laugh that fills one’s body with warm goodness.

I want to lie there on the floor immersed in our wetness in delight.

I want to snuggle up and feel the muscle flex and dance with the flames from the fireplace.

I want to be able to taste and smell the morning breath unchanged.

Right now I sit in this chair typing away. I continue to go unnoticed and unwanted each passing day. I sit in this chair of hope reaching out to the universe called the world wide web. Hoping that somehow there is a connection among the wires or wireless circuits that run our electronic devices. I yearn for that love I do not think I have yet experienced but witnessed so many others obtain. I am reminded of the old woman in class that said she had only 3 great loves in her lifetime. I still have 0 as I reach a quarter of the way through. I sit here silent fighting back tears some days I let them overflow the dam damaged the floodgates opened. That’s what I am doing now leaving myself vulnerable to anyone who happens to read this. I have desires for hot, passionate, and sensual love or is it lust. The one thing I struggle beating down is the feeling of loneliness. Loneliness is like those damn air balloon things we used to hit as a kid and was held down by sand. Those toys just popped back up no matter how many times you bopped it.

As I lay my head against my cold blue shoulder,
I see the shivers,
I hear the tears.

Stiff as a board,
my out of body experience whispers
a deafening blow,
The wind breezes past the drum.

The worst part of it all,
is the tik tik tik,
the pat pat pat,
of a swollen heart ready
to burst.

A flowing river longer
than Miss Issipp I’s
strands of hair so translucent.
My tears are no match.

-Foxxie