What is it, that you could want from me,
my friend?
We walk along as shape-shifters;
Flickering, ephemeral forms.
Starting a labyrinth from opposite ends,
we hope to meet at the heart.
The strategy you follow and the actions I take
will never agree though.
I know you will keep left,
and I will circle endless maps,
waiting for you to find me.
Because that is what you do;
you find me.
I need your shelter, when I’m drowning in thorns,
spiny hedges, out of shape;
twisting and curling their brambles around me.
What is it, that you could want from me,
sweet lover?
Moth to flame;
shadows to the light;
a starving creature to the scent of fresh blood;
you gaze and crave and advance,
lost in heat.
I simply lean and wait to find you wanting.
Wanting the same crazed thing every other
man wants from me.
You are of the same mould;
burn the same;
hurt me the same;
excite me the same. But that is not an invitation.
I welcome the thrill;
but I also shiver at the chill you let in as you enter;
leaving the door open to a blizzard.
What is it, that you could want from me,
lovely admirer?
I struggle to cover up my holes and gaping wounds before
you eye me.
You like my insecurity;
you feed off my uncertainty.
You can sway me like no other.
Because you have seen those weak spots under
my skin and feathers.
And you show me you like them.
You warm the air around me,
everything shimmers and is soft to the touch.
I’m safe moving into your arms until
you show me truly what you are.
Scaly, coiled as a spring, rough,
grazing and cutting my skin.
You’re a snake that charmed me into
harm.
Stop admiring me, It’s worth so little
I could be better without it.
What is it, that you could yearn for in my presence,
my love?
Long, slow days wrapped in each other.
Excitement buries itself into expectation. Into routine.
I know you’re there when I call.
I know you sense my tears building,
before I do.
I know you already understand the words yet
to tumble from my mouth;
dirtying the floor and reeking of loss.
Why yearn, when you already have been given what
you need?
Why moan and cry at my feet, hurting, when you’ve already taken
what you need?
It’s only need. It’s not desire, or dreams.
It’s physical, real, and I’m the lost one thinking it was different.
Maybe, one day my love, I’ll be the one to yearn instead.
Loud enough that it will shudder and surge through your skin.
Enough that you can give back to me.
What is it, truly, that you want?
Aug 2, 2016
Aug 2, 2016 at 7:03 AM UTC
What is it, that you could want from me,
my friend?
We walk along as shape-shifters;
Flickering, ephemeral forms.
Starting a labyrinth from opposite ends,
we hope to meet at the heart.
The strategy you follow and the actions I take
will never agree though.
I know you will keep left,
and I will circle endless maps,
waiting for you to find me.
Because that is what you do;
you find me.
I need your shelter, when I’m drowning in thorns,
spiny hedges, out of shape;
twisting and curling their brambles around me.
What is it, that you could want from me,
sweet lover?
Moth to flame;
shadows to the light;
a starving creature to the scent of fresh blood;
you gaze and crave and advance,
lost in heat.
I simply lean and wait to find you wanting.
Wanting the same crazed thing every other
man wants from me.
You are of the same mould;
burn the same;
hurt me the same;
excite me the same. But that is not an invitation.
I welcome the thrill;
but I also shiver at the chill you let in as you enter;
leaving the door open to a blizzard.
What is it, that you could want from me,
lovely admirer?
I struggle to cover up my holes and gaping wounds before
you eye me.
You like my insecurity;
you feed off my uncertainty.
You can sway me like no other.
Because you have seen those weak spots under
my skin and feathers.
And you show me you like them.
You warm the air around me,
everything shimmers and is soft to the touch.
I’m safe moving into your arms until
you show me truly what you are.
Scaly, coiled as a spring, rough,
grazing and cutting my skin.
You’re a snake that charmed me into
harm.
Stop admiring me, It’s worth so little
I could be better without it.
What is it, that you could yearn for in my presence,
my love?
Long, slow days wrapped in each other.
Excitement buries itself into expectation. Into routine.
I know you’re there when I call.
I know you sense my tears building,
before I do.
I know you already understand the words yet
to tumble from my mouth;
dirtying the floor and reeking of loss.
Why yearn, when you already have been given what
you need?
Why moan and cry at my feet, hurting, when you’ve already taken
what you need?
It’s only need. It’s not desire, or dreams.
It’s physical, real, and I’m the lost one thinking it was different.
Maybe, one day my love, I’ll be the one to yearn instead.
Loud enough that it will shudder and surge through your skin.
Enough that you can give back to me.
What is it, truly, that you want?
