I wish I knew what it meant to resent your own lover.
The dreams that I have had, where he attacks me,
or lays like a snake-in-the-grass,
or peels his own face off
to reveal nothing but sucking emptiness...
I wake and roll over, the sweat pouring off me,
and I want to reach out to him
but I remember the scales of his skin
glinting in the shadows...

I wish I could understand what it means to lust after your own lover,
aching, needing to be filled by him
as if I could never have him, as if I never really had him...

I wish I didnt lean toward him, almost phototrophic, like a tender tiny plant,
and then feel myself crushed by his heel.

04/23/2008

Posted on 04/23/2008
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