Life is nothing if interesting if I do say so myself.
Sometimes I wish I could stay in bed forever,
perhaps with you wherever you are.
If I could see your face in flesh,
knowing you are with me,
then I think I would be complete.
You seem like a dream,
something I may have only thought I touched,
but believed to be true.
My mind isn’t at its clearest these days,
my heart aches with every step I make
that takes me either farther away or closer to you.
My body aches for want of your touch,
to feel your hands caressing my shoulders,
holding my hand,
teasing my breasts,
and further into passion’s waiting arms. . .
Yet still I sleep alone,
imagining you there,
your arms surrounding me in their protective embrace,
hearing your soft whispers against my neck.
Yet you are still not there.
I thought of dying yesterday,
ending my cruel life,
but I would never do so.
I haven’t had love so how could I die
before experiencing the wholeness of sex.
The delicious feeling of having a beautiful man
hold me while I sleep.
As much as I think of dying,
it never lasts,
but still I wait for you,
wondering if I will ever meet your gaze
across the living room before bedtime,
or across the table at dinner,
or if I’ll ever see you smile when you wake
or meet your passion as it rises.
When? Where? How?
Will this impossible dream ever happen?
Or am I to be left alone for eternity,
forever walking the road of loneliness?
A pang stabs across the expanse
of my aching heart, and soul,
and I convulse,
my body reaching inward,
and outward,
until I am alone in bed,
sobbing myself to sleep,
crying out for you. . .