Healing

How do I even begin? Time passes and I pretend as though I'm okay. That words of emptiness don't really matter because I know I have your heart anyway. Do I? I've become the mother of invention and the reality is I need to create a new way of naming this thing that we have that perplexes and vexes me and keeps me wound up, clocking you and exploding, C-4ing you and I just want to be free to give you all that I possess....

I am wondering

If I never hear the words, should I just listen to the actions?

I write of a love that never existed

I write to an address that no longer exists because I hurt from a love that never existed. I can't call and tell you that I ache for you. Wishing for a call, a kiss, a hug, a touch. How could I love so hard and not know I wasn't loved in return. I write to an address that doesn't exist because I hurt from a love that was mine and mine alone. We shared kisses that only we could share, spoke in languages that only we could comprehend. How could that have been false? How could I have missed the signs? Flowers, candy, gifts, those things weren't for us. The only thing we had to cling to was words. I used those words to carry me throughout heartache, reading them over and over when your voice wasn't there to give me comfort. I write to an address that no longer exists because I hurt from a love that wasn't returned. Was it even love that I felt or was it the intoxication I felt from your touch? Your hands touched me and my body filled with hot lava waiting to explode from it's volcano with one command. Your lips tasted of freedom and entrapment all in one, freeing me to give you all and making me a slave to effects of our lovemaking. Would I call it lovemaking? Would I call it fucking? What do you call something that has the power to soothe souls and bring torture. I write to an address that doesn't exist because I hurt from a love that didn't love me back. What do I do with all of this? I'm raw, an exposed being feening for the touch of someone who could care less, who plays with hearts as sport and gives no care to what he leaves behind. How will I get past this agony. I'll write to the address that is no longer his and pretend that he will see that I write of the love that never existed and use the pain to heal.

Is It Necessary

Do we need that physicality to prove our mentality?

Yours...

I'm sitting in my shell, anticipating the moment when you will come for me. You see me and you cradle me gently. Your eyes become soft at the sight of my presence. Present am I, yours for the taking. I'm aching to be touched by you. my skin rolling under your finger's touch. I am the kiss to your klimt, waiting to become the art I will be when you use your fingertips to bring me to life. You take off my jacket slowly and pour me on the bed. my earthen color and my sweet fragrance begin to fill the air. You slowly begin to clean me, making sure I'm pure for the moment we become one. I tremble with each touch of your fingers as you gently wipe each inch of me coaxing and turning me slowly and deliberately. if i could name your touch I still would be wordless cuz I can't words have not been invented that describes the way i feel when you caress me. How long have I waited for these moments. How long have you prepared me for the moment we would be as one your lips on me waiting on the effects you know only I can bring. I was born for this moment, nurtured and cared for just to give the pleasure that you seek. I lie naked to you now completely: clean, pure except for the places where you have touched me. I'm wrapped in the sheets cold from the exposure but I say nothing because the fire that's about to start will will produce the heat needed to have my body smoldering. I know our love affair will be brief but I don't care. Ours is a combination that is hypnotic and intoxicating, clarifying and sensual all in one short encounter. Ooooh, your lips are hot and wet at the same time and you coax and pull on me begging me to give you more. I give in and give you as much as you will allow me to give and more. You step away, breathless and full, wanting more of me but pausing to gather the moment. You cover me once more and just when I know we are about to do this dance until we are both spent and breathless, you callously pass me on to the next nigger and I'm no longer that thrill for you alone. You want others to feel my poison. How could you? I thought I was your mary jane...