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Apr 2014
I was standing in front of my bureau when it hit me
That I need you,
but not like that.
I need you like a florist needs the fans of ballet dancers,
someone to come by and love him in winter.
I'm only noticing now that your voice is chocolate syrup with a scrap
of sandpaper thrown in,
with just enough of a drop of ****.
I need you like some people need bubble tea,
a pop inside of me that feels sweet and unexpected
and thought I've never tried it,
I'm sure it feels like your tongue working on mine
and the imprint of your cool lips
while I hurriedly kiss you at the crosswalk.
Do you know that when you go home
I still feel the ghosts of your arms around my waist
and the cover of your touch,
like wings on my arms?
I need you like a rock needs moss,
because I don't--
but picture the two separated, and tell me
what is the point?
And how inconvenient it is that these were not made together,
that they had to seek one another out,
and how fortunate it is
that they fused,
******* soft,
color on grey,
creating a pattern of earth, like the Earth
a cohesive package of everything,
all at once.
I need you like I need me.
Elise Grenier
Written by
Elise Grenier  United States
(United States)   
497
   Raquel Martinez
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