This might be the only moment we get.
Make this moment count
Hold nothing back.

Leave me with no regrets.
Nothing unfulfilled.
Give me all you have, here and now.

Because the here and now is all we have
And if you find that in this moment,
Right now, we are not together.

Give it to me, in prose, in text
Email and facebook, google plus.
But don't hold back.

Make this moment count.
And when the next moment comes,
Make this moment count.

Desire rises up like a tidal wave.
Yearning to reach out to another.
The strong flow washing over me,
And within me.

Pushing out, reaching...
The object of my desire is barely known
Surely you can't warrant such an intense reaction,
So soon, so incomplete.

But it flows, I can't hold it back.
I flow.
Wanting more I drift where the current leads.
Giving into desire, but unable to fulfill it.

Such a waste
All this beautiful passion
All the thrilling things that could be done.
Oh what I would do with this desire.

Every drop wasted
Every morsel untasted
Every ****** act, a ghost to lay to rest
With an inadequate eulogy played by my fingers.

Yes.

*** is a divine act.
Done right, it is beautiful and wondrous.

The intimacy between two people.
Knowing each other so fully.

Exploring every detail of each others bodies.
Enjoying each others  bodies.

Giving yourself completely to each other.
Receiving and giving pure pleasure.

Whether it's long and slow
With plenty of foreplay.

Or an intense ******
Full of fun and excitement.

*** is sensual
Beautiful
Fun
Intense.

*** makes me happy
(It's scientific - endorphins)

Human contact is beautiful.
Skin on skin.

Touch... Kiss... Stroke... Lick
Wrapped around each other.
One inside the other.

And the ******
The only thing powerful enough to stop the divine act of ***.

I get the message
Silence
Loud and clear.

I did wonder why
You didn't just tell me outright.
Like I did in the fleeting moment
When I tried to breakup with you.

But I realised
You don't want to breakup.
You still want me available for ***.

It's all we ever promised each other.
It's me who changed
Not you.

I have come to this realisation before.
I seem a little less sad this time.
Perhaps I won't delude myself again.

But I know when you want me
I will come to you
(Just for ***).

And when you hold me
That is when I become weak
That is when I believe in you
In us...
In my feelings for you.

Oh to have a hand to hold
More than a cold stone wall
With a computer heart.

To feel a human touch
More than an illicit moment
Every once in a while.
And then back home
Connected and disconnected.

Looking up from the computer
For a split second to blow a kiss
Just makes me sadder.

Barely a foot away
And we don't touch.

He loves me all he knows how to
And I feel so alone.
I have so much more to give
Than he is interested in,
And need so much more.

So there we have it
A conundrum with no fixing

Just more breaking.

I am not a poet.
I have read many poems.
Beautiful, touching,
Clever and meaningful.

I don't use lovely analogies
Or powerful descriptors.
I write lists.
Clear, concise ideas.

I don't leave space
For the reader's interpretations.
No open wandering paths
For them to meander along.

Everything is clearly defined.
With passages precisely laid out
To direst the reader to
EXACTLY what is being said.

Sometimes when a poem wafts into my head
It is more poetic.
But then as I put pent to paper
Only the skeleton remains.

Even this poem
Had a better feel in my head.
Yet another thing to feel
Inadequate about.

I am not trying to wallow
In self-pity (yet again).
I am just not a poet.
I would like to know what I am.