I'm like a Vulcan when you aren't around -
logical, distant, evaluating you
like a product with my friends,
the consumer with a lifetime of buying.

But near you I'm a prisoner
of some consciousness independent of thought,
like a fever or the dreamer,
with the merest semblance of control.

You are light and loose, hair like Spanish moss
and skin like cedar resin, all laughter and agonizing beauty.
The way you lean across the table I only think of kissing you.

I'm sure at times it must show,
like a red stain on a white dress
or some inconvenient *******..

You have some license on me,
a key to a place in me I keep hidden and close,
you fit some interior template of desire.

What good is freedom if I can't tell you‽
Oh, The ragged vagaries of loves games.

1000 emotions and I am deserted
to silence by some rule of thumb -
by a faltering consumer confidence
or some feeling of inward nakedness -
when all I want in the world is an open kiss
or to give you an intimate scented something...