I
am a silent masturbator.
I don't moan,
or groan,
or whisper;
I set to work,
and as quickly as it begins, it is over -
as if it never happened at all:
A tree falling in an empty forest.
but yesterday
When we talked outside
and the midday sun
hit your eyes,
Covering those glossy dots of paint in a thin layer of honey,
and warming a gentle smile,
I fell in love with you.
Tonight,
when I touched myself,
I was still silent.
but I couldn't help but think of you;
of burying myself
Into that beautiful body of yours,
of holding you
So close you begin to wonder if I will ever let go,
of filling you
With some sticky, liquid testament to this unreciprocated love;
and as I ******,
I lose myself
and Your name slips my lips.
The silence is broken.
I don't know if it can be fixed.