I would forgive the burden
of what a relationship can become,
for a light brush of fingertips
down my spine. Or
a set of lips to trace my shoulder blades.
A warm neck to nuzzle and bite;
the sound of pleasure expressed
through a voice box in sighs.
This description may seems too physical
as if it has no heart, but truth
is the whole is never quite equal
to it's parts. Each
desired moment stands alone
in this dearth of intimate contact. They
become monoliths growing like measuring
tape from the most recent basis for comparison.
So I'm lying in wait like a rattlesnake.
Coiled to strike with lust hidden
in smiles and idle chatter. I will substitute
those defensive rattles for the soft slither
of the hunter. I long to become
a fragile and driven thing.