You lean back in your chair,
the light behind you, one leg
propped up… and I try to think
of a word to touch you with.
A word that means I know
what it is to be unused,
to always be waiting, to want
someone to choose a chord
on your throat, on your skin and play.
A word that means you want
to resonate, to quiver with use…
and there’s the word… the word
with which to touch you…
‘quiver…’ an archer’s cache
of unspent arrows… but also…
also… to tremble, to vibrate…
to quake with craving beneath a hand…
I know… I know what it is to want.
I love the little romantic moments that are seen in public.
Like one day in Japan there was a couple smiling at each other, while she fed him from a spoon, and looking at each other like there was no one and nothing else in the world.