Untitled Poem

How to explain that you and I are having sex in two very different ways

the touch, the feel                                                 

This goes way beyond anatomy, i know

you got yours now let me get mine.

It's not so much that I need you to love me.

I've been taking care of myself for a long time now and I'll do it again

But it doesn't stop these nagging impressions, subversive suggestions

that I need a sedative depressant for every extreme emotion I feel

around you in order to play it "casual”

I have so much excess

So much I want to and am capable of giving

that it pains me to withhold that passion, that fullness

like a mirage always tempting, never quenching

you won't let me hold you in the way my arms were made to curve around your body

after you take that last ecstatic breath, bringing you closer in

the sin of sex is not in the act but in the being

It's not me, it's you

and I am left wanting

that permission to give.

Though you try to fill

my many sacred orifices,

you come up empty. your hands

buried in the sandbox dreams of my childhood,

forgetting that solidifying water that turns promises into action

sand into stone

building a foundation of hope bringing our long lost ships to port. They say

that love is when you learn to let go and just be, now

I’m not forcing you to love me, I know what self-respect looks like but

this pulsating tango of convoluted expectations is just not enough.

My body yearns for more than your rhythmic dance can give,

Our bodies oceans clashing

wading in and out with one too many unrequited wills

forgetting what it feels like to be

and if medication’s the only action

to subdue this attraction it seems that subtraction will be my only peace.

It’s time to leave

and get mine.