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.
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