I'll *******,
If you want.
Cause I want it
Just as bad as you do.
But I also want to hear the rustle of the sheets
When you turn over in the middle of the night.
I want to feel your hot breath on my neck.
I want the stubble on your chin to graze my cheek
As you kiss me gently on the forehead.
And when I whisper "goodnight," you don't have to reply.
Just nudge me with your knee
Or poke me with your elbow.

On most days I feel like a cave on the outskirts of a small town in Iowa. A lonely hermit lives there. The cave is a body of tunnels. Some have lanterns waiting to be lit. The hermit lives somewhere in the center. Sometimes the children who have made up stories about the hermit visit the mouth. Full of fear, they yell into it. Yell, "Hello! Are you there?". After a moment of silence their own echos bounce back and startle them. Realizing he is not real, the children laugh. Their laughter fills the small tunnels, and the sound makes the hermit happy. On most days my body is heavy with that sound.

He is a lean mean reality
Scuffed, but smiling, jaded, but idealistic.
You took him by surprise,
He loves that,
The mischievous tomcat,
with his blessed openmindedness,
First amendment tattooed skin.
The measure of love is beyond any ruler,
Such truths he reveals before him.

It quickly became apparent that not all was
as it once was.
The mouth which governed the wall
(which was twisted and cracked)
smiled,

and proceeded to
grind its teeth
to the beat of the
morbid drone of
the siren.

Each a percussive
slab of yellowing ivory,
chipped, curved;
a grizzled toenail.
Being torn off
may solve more problems
than it causes.

At the door:
A  brushing noise.
If the mouth could see
how gracefully
I navigate the room,
it might be impressed
and let me out.

*Note to self:
Doors are best left closed.