Only you have your figure,
No one else has your shape.
Curse my eyes for their blatant lies
They present to me not what I want to see.
I am here, you are here.
We are not.
In the billowing meadows,
In the autumn chill,
Over there, I
I want to speak to you
With you
I can hear the churning of vapid pleasantries,
The coy flirtation of thinly veiled wants,
Sex-driven lips spreading wide into a smile,
Welcoming the carnalities of another.
I am hollow, full of hollow wants,
Give them all to me.
“I can’t love you the way you deserve.
I can’t spoil you into submission
Nor cradle the child within,
I can’t give you a mother’s love
And a lover’s want,
I can’t.
And I will tell you I am sorry.
I will tell you what you need to hear.”
I’ve known this.
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