Looking is not seeing.


Love is a two way street, passed in the daybreak, daylight and purple shadows of the night. You walk both ways, if only for the sweet pain of walking with someone.


Why won't you look at me.

Why do you play the games of children when I look into your eyes.

Is it fear that stems your caution. 

Is it broken, this joy of yours.

Or is it this pinning desire to be loved without any reform.


I feel pierced by the barb of your pain.


I am bruised. I am scarred and scratched and pawed. 
I am mid-ravish.
Skin that bares witness to your hands.
Lips, that know not what they've done.
I am bright, but hazy in my memories.

Hands touching. Curves, soft and warm.
Eyes. Open, steady. Searching.
Lips, waiting, wanting, taking. 
Breath. Gone. Sharp.
Close my eyes and sink.
But in my dreams, you are contaminated, you are changed into who you have not become.
Blended on the edges into people and men you have and will never know.

You hold me while I sleep; while I dream. Your body soft and warm pressed up against my own.

Whispers in the dark. 
Love. Like and lust.
You hold me while I sleep. 
Your body comforting and hard. 
Arms that reach around, out into the dark unknown.
Protecting, at least, my body from harm.

Understanding.
Confusion.
Bruised and sweet and broken.
Naked & half covered in the pale light of the moon.

But I wake alone.
I am alone. 
Your arms are an illusion. A dream. A thing of the past.

I Thank God for the dawn.




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