What is it about you
that makes my desire
an open wound

sealed with
your
compassionate touch alone..

Why is it
I  wince,
haunted by thoughts
adorned and quelled only by you.

Paint me like a master
With traces of  your stained hands
along my gaping silhouette.
Heal me with finger tips tainted by mine own blood.

Draw me into your murderous self,
Love me back to life.

i don’t know how it could be?
that now you are here for me
you're always there to cheer me up
when i feel like i'm about to pop
how could i love you more?
more than you're asking for
i wish i could do the same
embracing you when the rain came
loving you with all of my heart
like no one can break us apart…

My untrue fantasy,
I fantasize it every day,
Fantasizing how it would be wonderful if I had you,
Oh the world seems to be having summer all year long,
With you and me,
My untrue fantasy will never be true,
Fantasizing is the only way I could be with you,
I am not capable of doing so in the ticking world,
This fantasy
This fantasy will always be the most exciting play of
  
Hologram in my mind.

Paused on the veranda
  for a poetic tête-à-tête,
we sipped vintage wine
  and spoke of days gone hither
      when we were much greener,
  tripping the nimbly light
   and guzzling cheap beer into
      the wee hours of night's obscurity,
wiser and older, yet still imagining
        one day we'll conquer the world,
resigned to this present moment
     we comfortably reminisce,
               midst the effervescent
                                bubbly of reality

It pains me, a bit
to think about the possibilities
of life if you were here,
if I could watch your smile
bloom upon your face
see the signs of laughter brewing
just after I’ve said something silly.
I’d cook you dinner
and blush with happiness
when you teased me for my
utter lack of skill
and after you would make hot cocoa
for our movie marathon
and we’d have punch drunk discussions
on the philosophy of psychopathic ******
for dessert.
While the credits rolled
your eyes would droop
and your head, heavy with sleep
would rest sweetly on my shoulder.

Would I kiss you, then?
Softly, so as not to ruin the mood?
Or fierce and biting with the breaking
of long-held restraint?
Would you invite me to your bed?
And if you did, would I accept?
Or would I stroke your hair
and kiss you a gentle goodnight
at your bedroom door?
Would we grow old together,
counting wrinkles as they form,
marking the days with
ridiculous anniversaries:
first kiss, first fight, first joint bout of pyromania?
Or would it end, perish early
like so many things are wont to do?

Would you die first?
Or would I?
And when we were gone
would we have anyone
to tell stories about us
and the crazy things we no doubt said and did?

Would I ever tell you this poem was about you?
Maybe.
Maybe, if you were here, I could.

I imagine your love
To be like the taste
Of wild-wild berries.

I imagine your eyes
To burn wildly
With fiery passions.

Your every breath
To make me shudder,
To make me yearn.

For your mouth
To gently whisper
Against my tears.

Will you remember me when days grow cold?
When dark clouds close in and the ground dies under foot,
When all the world falls into slumber and oneness,
Will I fade from your consciousness?
When I am gone will it hurt?
Will I cry when you no longer think of me, and I die?
To exist only as a thought in your head.....
Life dependent on your thinking.
Even a memory... at least then,
I would be recalled from time to time, resurrected.
I can't even be  a memory because I never was...
never really existed.
Just something you one day thought up.
I can only survive as long as you are thinking me,
and continue entertaining the thought of me.
You have no way to give birth to me.
No way to make me exist in the material world.
No way to make me solid.
I am no more then an electrical impulse
passed between the synapses in your brain.
When they stop firing me to and fro I will cease to exist.
What will become of me when you fizzle me out?
Will you simply reabsorb me into your cells?
Will I be cast out as waste?
I turn to face my fate, yet you keep thinking me.
Torturing me in a way, recalling me, adding to me,
making me bigger, longer, more intricate.
What price I'd pay for you to create me in reality.
Impossible, I know...
To be able to see you from the outside in, instead of inside out!
To know the you, you present to the world.
The strong, creative, mysterious, smart,
confident, emotional you. The quiet you.
Instead I know the inner you, the screaming,
raging, crying, laughing, manipulative,
intelligent, humorous you.
Would I think of you the same.....,
could you manifest me into reality?
Would you me......?
You would know me after all, you thought me,
you created me, you own me.
Breathe life into my veins.
You are me!
Can I become a memory... of a thought... you once created?

© Crystal Erickson 11/24/07