March: One True Lust

Rest your feet after your run through my thought
Or it may be your eyes that shoot darts this way.
I shoot them back and look you down and up
And see flesh that I’d like to feel and play.
This run’s run on for weeks and weeks
Without satisfying me or you.
You too would like that beastly deed
Your biting lip exposes truth.
The tension could be cut with a dull edge.
Clotho wove the threads that never merge.
The few angstroms that span between our flesh
Seem like mountains that I cannot traverse.

This love or lust will be my dying quest.
I will see it’s final with my final breath.

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