how easily desire returns.

my emotions fall into a ditch
and my fingers, how they wish and itch
for the slightly rusted blade of my middle school pencil sharpener

it's been years, at least three or four
since desire came knocking at my door
and i let her in, i welcomed her sin

but now, no more
she stays outside, i cast aside her begs and cries

but i sob and long for her embrace
it's warm, familiar
she reeks of teenage angst

i want the high, i want the sigh
of pride, knowing i righted a wrong
did drawing lines mean i was strong?
is in my house where she belongs?

the answer's no, i know, she knows
that choice was made so long ago
i've stood my ground, i've shut the blinds
i've covered marks she left inside
but i didn't forget, she still reminds

that even on the sunny days
the moment there's a hint of grey

she's ready, a solicitor
unwanted, but a visitor
a single tantalizing thought
nostalgic - until she's not.