The numbness of your thoughts.
Lips which speak of other men & break
The dreams I hold within, behind this mask.
I feel the pain.
I sink to feet.
My fire burns but no smoke seen – you cannot see.
You have no clue this love I hold; I yearn for you.
A ghost I am. Mischievous, amusing, blind & drunk.
You ignore me so. It kills.
You slit my wrists with paine of childish dismissal.
Fourteen again & treated so.
You hold my hand. But to you this is jest, not love for me.
You take my name & throw it round the rooms we play.
I long for you.
But you run right past.
I smile for you.
A fool. His muse.
I feel the weariness of love appear & conquer me.
& Numbness holds.
I want you.
I wish you knew.
That other man whose name you brandish like golden finds, what care he for you?
But I my friend. I my smiling pretty, goofy, unashamed in ignorance, blissful girl,
The softness of your touch which melts my skin & drains my brain in mush for you.
Or that waist which calls & screams for my hands to be emboldened & take you there.
Undress your clothes & sense the silkiness of your curves alone.
I long for you.
& though my kisses would range from slow to hunger, your smile would I confess each day fuels my mind.
But you talk of him!
As if god were more important than the joys of someone close who worships you.
You’re killing me!
& I see you do not care or know.
You put me down in words of jest & compete in ways with me that time will test.
Another touch of hand.
Warm, smooth, innocent ecstasy. A frivolous desire.
I burn for you; a crimson fire.
You push me far, & I can’t break through!
I m drunk in the words I write for you.
I wish that girl could love or kiss
Then aching yearning would I miss & dreams fulfilled.
Snuggled up with naked child who smiled.
I dream of you.
Perhaps one day you’ll call for me instead.
~ On being with my girl. She speaks but does not see.
© ed simkins