#sexualfrustration
I just ache
to be touched by you
still swimming in heat
moist and quivering silently
beneath soft black cotton
but in those
fear-mongering moments
I can't move.
Like a statue made of marble
I ache to touch you but I end up
sitting there cold and lifeless
next to you on the bed
thinking of a million ways
in which to stroke you gently
but all we can muster together
is a few brushes of the hand
a head resting on a shoulder
a full-bodied tight squeezed hug
an awkward cheek kiss and
it's excruciatingly painful.
So much tension that builds
and builds and builds and builds
never getting anywhere.
I can feel it penting up in you too
through engorged pupils
shaking knocking knees
fidgeting hands
looks that aren't deadpan
but open and raw and swelling.
There are rises and dips
moments of eclipse
where you and I find comfort
in each other's arms
whether they be wrapped or resting
whether they be hovering just hovering
almost touching
we were almost touching.
Seeing your smile in the doorway
as I left
lanky frame in depth
an ache I cannot
escape
warming the cockles of this here mongrel heart
vast into infinity.
What a funny little cuddle jamboree!
Feb 25, 2017
Feb 25, 2017 at 7:28 PM UTC
wanting your arms around
my torso squeezing and
sleep deprived caused by
fantasies of you late last night
but i wish you'd wish
lips like ours could touch
again
but better
be smoother and slower
and sweeter like Max & Sylvie
and it could be delightful
if only you'd make more
time for me and it's
painful to want you so much
so visceral, so intensely that
my want is grimy and slimy
dragging my inner ****
in sloppy circles cut
to your exact shape and build
if only, if only
you knew how much i
drooled underneath the covers
last night, shrouded by hunger, blanketed by invigorating horniness
a longing that never seems to go
away
whenever i'm around you
and it's exhausting
Feb 9, 2017
Feb 9, 2017 at 1:44 PM UTC
Loads of bubble wrap piled behind
and it crackles like how a stomach
gets twisted on itself after
eons of sleep
decoding it's diaphragm to follow
the blips and beeps and bleeps
encrusted on trusting
a tight gut reaction to
wanting to touch
you.
But waiting is so difficult.
Loads of suds creep up
forming in cysts or scabs
upon stomach encasings
all slimy and orange inside
with a stretchy cover all
deep royal purple with
dark pink veins coursing
through it encoding the
rapture of film recording while
the lining inside gets all clammy
with arousal secretly clenching
this yearning and aching just
wanting to touch
you.
But waiting is so difficult.
It's a difficult, messy procedure that leaves the body exposed if it comes in contact to actual skin and flush and heat and mucus but
it is a necessary step to
colloquial banter within
the clustering of organs all
internally arguing while the
overwhelmed brain tries to keep order and the genitalia hums
all quiet in the corner
because she knows she runs
the show.
And it's funny because the brain knows he'll have to give in to
the actual world of living folks
and climb out of his bundled
fabulous fantasies in order to
make reality plausible.
And in wanting you
and in waiting
I've found myself in visceral shock
to the point where I panic and
all that's jumbled up and bound inside me seems to clench tighter.
And I fear that in waiting for your mutual touch
and I fear that in wanting to be with you so much
I'll collapse under the weight
and never get up.
Loads of words hide beneath me
resting in tubes that resemble
the small intestines in looping
nests of unbridled questions.
Will it be enough to see you
and not touch you?
Will it be enough to talk
with you and not kiss you?
Will it be enough to be chaste
and respectful when all my brain needs to do is test you?
When all my brain wants to do
is clobber you whole, chew, then swallow, spitting out bones?
Jan 20, 2017
Jan 20, 2017 at 2:19 PM UTC
and isn't strange
that i'm sitting in my car
in a parking garage
thinking of you and missing
your stupid plumb apple face
or maybe it's carved from soap
or shaved glass
fragmented by pieces
collected in bindles
followed by bundles
of the joy i used to have
of the sleep i used to get
of the energy i used to take
and isn't it strange how
i have no desire to have you
all to myself for you are
an automous being that
breathes and thinks and acts
wholy different than me
but i can't help but miss you
and your kiwi colored eyes
with the seeds cut out
dipped in a ring of gold
and like smegal i yearn to
hold that precious ring of gold
in my shriveled hands
even though i know
it'll corrupt me
but i'm drawn to mordor
all the same
that's what it's like
missing you
wanting to go there
even when I shouldn't
and isn't it strange
that my world is shifting
complicit and complicated
a deficit of the senses
a pull from the void
a shake of the head
with such filigree i am sated
but blinded by such yearning
to touch your hot skin
feel it rest
against mine
again but
maybe i'm too addicted to sparks
Jan 20, 2017
Jan 20, 2017 at 1:35 PM UTC
It takes all I have
to control
each action sluiced
and sliced
into little round cubes
burnt by internal fire
soft ash dust
sparse windy air
pocketing my desire
for you in pieces
just waiting
for the right moment
to leap into unknown waters
feet first
so frozen and
the river could be cold
to the touch
but your skin is warm
and gentle
heat rising
searing my arm
tingling my senses
scrambling my brain
to mottled bunches.
I have too much
self control
(and it's eating me alive.)
Jan 20, 2017
Jan 20, 2017 at 12:55 PM UTC
Take my heart out of the gutter and shake it ‘till it bleeds.
That lonely ************ can’t breathe
unless the sinews stitch back together
like the veins of leaves,
all smooshed by heels and debris.
My heart can’t see.
Laying in that gutter; it can only believe.
Jan 14, 2016
Jan 14, 2016 at 5:16 AM UTC