I want to be wanted, loved, thought about daily perhaps even hourly..., I want someone that will think of me and smile, I want someone that likes me because of my flaws or quirkiness, I want someone to look into my eyes and not just see my eyes but see me. But most of all I want someone that makes me feel that way about them. I am happy being
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“Staccato Images”
staccato images,
a strobe-light in my mind;
you, at night, rain falling
as you tried in vain
to light your fag
you, stretching long
slender limbs on a
gray carpet one eve;
you, bursting through
the door, a wide smile
creasing your oval olive face
you, drunk and clumsy
high and spaced and calm-
crazy and giddy from nitrous;
you, sitting next to me
imploring me to slow down
this the curve where your sister crashed;
you, sitting in the basement
tears, staining your elegant high cheekbones
shaking, muffled sobs in the swivel-chair;
you, ringing through the line
all smiles, laughing and glancing at me
as you drop a cup on the way to me;
you, the soft pressure of your head
as i look over while the shots are pulling,
your body resting on mine, arm around my waist;
you, after close, letting your hair down
and shaking it out, turning the music up,
all smiles and singing;
you, the sound of your voice,
and I close my eyes
that’s all I ever wanted to hear;
you, the feel of holding
your soul in the palm of my hand
of your supple fingers caressing my being;
you, under the covers ready for bed,
looking for once so at peace
free from the stresses of the waking world;
you, I feel so lost without --
--you, struggling to redefine
my life; hard to believe
difficult to conceive
the idea of forever
without you.
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