As I sit by you –
among dangling lights,
surrounded by books –
the delicate tone of your voice,
coupled with the plump and soft appearance of your lips,
makes me wish I could touch.

Just once more.

But tangled amidst your broken bones
and my missing guts,
nothing but an ocean flows between us.

I have given up.
Or did I?

I have given up.
Maybe.

I have given up trying to force it.

And questioning if it is best to euthanize fantasies
or rather give in to impulse by jumping in?

Who knows.

All I can think of is how soft they look.
How thirsty I am.
And how broken we seem
below these dimmed lights.

(2/13/14)