then a good go-round in the dryer.
i might not live through it, but at the very least i will feel
fresh, hot, and cuddly.
in this madness i celebrate my craving
to be squeezed... held captive in a mountain of bed sheets and hot laundry.
i dream of that capture:
i'll be busy, real "busy" doing things like sorting through books and papers,
pretending to care about mail that will end up in a pile,
when i am tackled against my will (but not really),
grabbed, tickled and
kissed, execution style.
the rifle of your warm mouth, exploding my face,
will not rest.
i will be bound and gagged ( i can take it).
bury me in all the silence that results in the muting of all this earth noise.
send a live-feed digital account of my being held prisoner to wherever i was
before i was with you.
the lighting will flutter. i will give the camera a peace sign and thumbs up.
peel me back and light me up.
somewhere out there
you are my heaven and i want it now.
sometimes i forget
sometimes i forget
sometimes i forget
how secure i was,
how captured i was,
how good you felt,
how right things were,
how my reality showed my dreams up,
looking in the face of desire and fantasy and told them to take a hike,
and everything was justified.
now i justify nothing.
there is no need. i feel stripped.
returned to this home
and though my things are glad to see me,
i forgot how to use them.
i wait for a bell to wake me up because i cannot feel you reaching in the morning.
i am a strange prisoner now,
sitting here amazed at how free i felt while being gripped so tightly.
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