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.