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A mere few days without you,
and a strong itching manifests inside.
My thoughts feel dry - lack of oxygen.
My mind feels sore from resistance.
My soul, far from content.
My heart, like a lactating mother
with no infant to feed.
Like milk-filled *******
it feels heavy,
with only wet cheeks for company.

I need my fix, it tells me.
A spoonful of you will do.
It revels in denial but
it knows this love is true.

The first step to de-addiction
is acceptance, as they say.
Well, acceptance be ******!
I’ll embrace it.
Celebrate it.
Host a party and cut a cake for it.
I will squeal with ******, saying
Yes! Yes! Oh yes!
I’m addicted to you.

They were right, I guess.
Love is a drug.
It messes with my head to no end.
This september sky
does not have kind eyes
They stare at women's tongues
and never blink

September's thin blue arms
smeared with white angel's guts
reach into mens lungs with
mouthfuls of oxygen lust

If they beheld her whole form
they would turn mute and celibate
forever.
There've been many, from two coasts, two continents
And I'm here to tell you, they are heaven sent

There's a Freud street in every city in Israel
And I am living proof and here to tell
There's a very good reason for this
His descendants are an important part of life
For those of us who missed
Important pieces of the puzzle when we were growing up
And then they came back to haunt us, and really messed us up

All those women, staring at me from across the room
So thoughtful, so introspective, looking at their latest catch
Knitting their brows, trying to make sense of that
Which I never could,  not all by myself
If I could, I would have, maybe just read a book off my shelf

When I think of all the hours
I've talked and tried to understand
It would add up to a short lifetime
In a simpler land

My current one's my favorite.  
She lives in my former hood
She's a ****, she's progressive and she'd heal me right now if she could

But alas, there is no short road
there is no easy end to this
You must be quite committed,
You must spend a lot of money and never miss
an appointment, because if you do, you'll trip
And before you know it you'll be back in the dip
where you started
That would be a shame
For a problem is a problem by any other name

"There is no other way but through"
I've read so many times
I imagine a stuffy, grey haired man speaking that line
And yet, it is true
As painful as it is
If it were easy, there'd be a lot more sane people in the world
And we all know it's not like this
I am an italicized remark,
your spicy punctuation;
I am your steamy satisfaction,
your permanent vacation.
A unique innuendo,
a read between the lines;
I am a story like no other
as I lick between your thighs.
from Cosmo,
The New Yorker;
A romantic gentleman lover.
A sweet wine you taste-test
and lick around my lips,
I am a kiss you can't resist-
a naked sweat, a seductive bliss.
I am the palm that stings the skin,
a ***** spank than burns within.
I am a moaning, seeping ******
that rumbles with percussion.
I am your emphasized description
although no adjective does justice.
Copyright Christopher Rossi, 2010
 Mar 2012 Cecile Havenga
Emma
Catching my reflection in the mirror, I noticed that I look beautiful today.
I look like still sadness, or slight grief, or a breeze through eucalyptus trees.
I smell like the sea.

I feel like a storm, or like the shore freshly pummeled by waves.

My skin is peaches. My skin is rain. My eyes are rain.

I want it to rain so that I can cry and belong. The sadness never stops with talking.
I'm talking all the time now
tying myself into knots and hanging my brain to dry when the clouds die

I'd like to slap you.
If only anger could boil over and burn our eyes and make us all forget
I would callous over my burns and it wouldn't matter anymore
Layers of burnt skin



I'm like an orange, I think. I'm easy to peel
and easy to eat away piece by piece

— The End —