The Perfect Metaphor

January 30th, 2011 | Category: Poems

Daily hanging in my head heavy.
And no matter what, I never feel ready.
Always slightly flushed, like you just came,
The flesh of your cheeks recalls hips of the same
Like the perfect metaphor that brings meaning to light.
The irony being that their meaning invites night.
It invites actions not illuminated, hidden by lacks thereof.
Lust, it seems, is a lot like love.

The desire lines in my head all lead to the same thought:
Paths less-traveled, but worn with want.
Lines of longing lingering on soft curves and in soft sighs.
Crossing in colored flecks, undefinable in your eyes.
Meeting in places impossible to touch.
Coming together in the middle, all of it all at once.
Absolute bliss or a close approximation thereof.
Lust, it seems, is a lot like love.