
Tangled
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)