He says something inappropriate. I end the conversation with a melancholic statement. He reaches out to me and... touch. I don't feel anything. Looking him up and down my face reads sad frustration but underneath it all panic. I can't feel him. I don't get hit by the sudden rush of his deodorant...In the midst of his presence and my heart doesn't skip a few beats..expecting his hand to touch my forearm. Beckoning. "I'm joking" he repeats.

But he doesn't see the internal concern. And all I want to do right now is pull him in and hold him really tight; whisper in his ear "I can't feel you", panic in my voice. A whisper he'll never understand.

I can't feel you anymore...

Behind Closed Doors

You,me a room; closed doors.
Sweat and heavy breaths.
Clothes on the floor.

Text messages daily.
***** pictures.
But don't you dare show me any affection in a public setting;
Treat me like your mistress.

What was the excuse? A racial barrier.
I would never give you an ultimatum. I know I'd loose.
I keep forgetting that I'm just second option to you.

I'm your stress release.
Your experimentation.
We both know that unlike me she has limitations.

I ask now how I could move up and switch ranks.
Should I request an interview, or do I not stand a chance.
I'm just so sick of being your second option.