straining at the seams is what i am bursting out of my dress towards you
there is a small whimper at the back of my throat and i wait for the moment when
you will reach in and take what you told me long ago was yours for the asking
i give it up willingly, come get it, bluster me out of the same old shit
you alone got the cadence of my cha cha cha, only you can make me brave
enough to dance it. lusting for you , like a deer pants for water, i am waiting for the
ringtone that says its you on the phone, no copy-catted phony, there is no time now
Holy holy holy is the Lord of hosts they are singing in the closed up cybercafes, hoarding their
supposed joy as if it could be tainted by throwing it about as you do. Oh we rolled about in the
grass that day and you told me my name, whispered it into my ear, with your hands on my head in blessing and seduction. How you seduce me, lord of hosts with your wildman eyes and the unquenchable passion you unfurl nanoseconds before we deem it impossible.
You made me, roiling through the streets singing at the top of my lungs, you made me, voluptuously in love with your side kick, you turn back laughing and beckon with a crook of your fingered outrageousness, totally true to every promise you reluctantly made because we prefer promises to love, but you give that too, pouring it out over our heads while we sleep
grace. like we never wanted to know about. filling us to bursting in our dreams.