“The Lengths”
By: M. H.
I twirled like a book,
Complacent and patient,
Waiting for your hands to smooth out my cover and read me.
Ribbons caressing satin,
Where to be the likes of you and I,
But as I lay for you to do your will with me,
Your hands came cold,
Your eyes unresponsive,
Just as I had dreaded before.
In the wake of morning,
I pressed my palm onto your chest,
My fingers waiting to tug you away,
While my lust wished to keep you raging,
Then my eyes closed,
And the ghost of you whispered “no”
And all I dreamed was aching.
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