Tuesday, 1 May 2012

for my beloved (misleading poem)











smooth like black magic
dark as envy
your box of secrets
waiting for my
touch
so
much
depends on where
the fingers roam
to unlock your treasure
feeling you yield to the slightest
pressure
but when you
haunt each waking hour
with the power
of knowledge
who is master now?
the toucher or the touched?
dumbly
you know
the slow
naked temptation
of information
so entwined
we cannot unbind
the ties that make us
one
without you I am
undone
missing your soft weight in my
hand
I understand
connection
attraction
obsession
the pang of being alone
without you
beloved
iphone

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