I want to be caressed, gently bittersweet,
like a lame horse before the
bullet. Hand along my cheek through
ruined fur; expression dripping
ruinous leaks.

I want the same wind that abuses my
clothes to stroke down the
flyaways in my hair. The notes spat
through gusts grimacing
at negligence.

I want to be held onto like a fleeting,
fading memory of a long life lived
still lingering. My eyelashes brushed
off my cheeks-- a wish of
affection, desire.

I want to curl around the sun like
rays of ether. I reach for the stars, their
distant dream, but they offer only
celestial gleam, transparent
light, intangible between
outstretched grasps.

I fantasise of fate, of destiny,
but I'm not sure I can keep waiting
for love to fall into my lap.
I invest in the inevitable
but I'm sick of the meantime, of hating
my friends for what they have through
eyes of spiteful longing.