Journal 03/07/19

In the arousing ambiguity of our relationship, I find comfort.
I enjoy the flirtatious air that never blossoms and stays within me as a well tempered bud;
compared to my past method of seduce & devour.
*
I sit in your chair, imagining what it might be like to act on my desires...
Why do I need these thoughts?
Why do they bring me into a world of overwhelming calm and stillness?
The sin of it, the selfish, lustful longing consumes my mind  and constricts my body like a serpent.
A subtle perversion with innocent intentions.
**
I lean back, kick up my heels, and imagine what it might be like
if your hands wandered where your eyes do—
just like that, I feel my breasts begin to tingle,
and the most sensate part becomes firm and puckered like raspberries in June.
I caress the skin of my own stomach to stimulate further the fantasy…
Still, nothing comes, leaving my inner monster unsatisfied;
the warmth of it, though is what I am truly chasing.  
A slow kindling of lucid & raw sensuousness,
untainted by improper treatment, fear, or survival instincts.
I yearn deliriously for the evocation of my humanity.  
***
My other world provides that for me.  
The desire is different to me than my attraction to my husband or other men.  
It is unlike all of the things that I need in life.
These fantasies that haunt me, depict something that I want 
& you become my harbinger of hope.



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