...I think it was Thoreau who said
most men lead lives of quiet desperation, and it’s true
that I verge on the unseemly in my desperation for you.
Never to taste your lips in life, I dream of them instead,
So soft. A little gentle touch, nothing more,
Lying between cool white cotton sheets, eye to eye, legs tangled
slanting sunlight through Venetian blinds, slightly angled
betrayed by a thousand floating motes of dust drifting to the floor.
