my heart grows sticky with dread when she leaves,
the impression my heart gives is a naive one, it's fallen for someone again and i'm already grieving it,
"it" as in the overwhelming stickiness of the dread when she leaves.
but i can still have the aspiration,
the ambition of hope because right now that stuff is insignificant, irrelevant.
i'm thinking of the ending when i should be thinking of the now.
so i'm going to think of the now,
i'm going to think about how i love the way her cool crisp fingers always seem to have a numbing effect on everything but the ecstasy that she gives me,
her blissful laugh filling my ears when i'm the one promisingly causing it,
the way my heart quickens and races against this cage of a body that she causes,
and the way she heats me up inside with her warmth that i yearn to be around, the one that makes my heart grow sticky with the uneasy dread when she goes.
YOU ARE READING
Desiderium
Poetry"hold the world but as the world; a stage where every man must play a part, and mine is a sad one." - William Shakespeare
